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SKETCHES OF A HOLIDAY SCAMPER 

IN SPAIN. 


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^^dcbdL Brooks.litJi. 


THE PALM FOREST, ELCHE 












IN SPAIN. 

By a. C. ANDKOS. 


“ Nihil scriptum miraculi causa.”—TociiMS. 


LONDON: 

EDWAKD STANFOED, 6 CHAKING CEOSS. 
1860. 





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LONDON : PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET 


PREFACE. 


When an Author announces that he publishes his 
work in compliance with the wishes of his friends, 
for whom it was originally and exclusively designed, 
the public care not to be apprized of so uninterest¬ 
ing a fact, and not unfrequently receive it with 
doubt and distrust. I therefore offer no such 
apology for the following ephemeral Sketches ; but 
solicit the indulgent consideration of the reader for 
the faults he may detect in the unpretending little 
work thus submitted to his notice. 

A C. A. 


London^ July, 1860. 



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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I, 

OUB ROUTE THROUGH FRANCE 


/ 

' ■ CHAPTER II. 

\ 

MATRICULATE AS A SPANISH TRAVELLER .. 


CHAPTER III. 

MY D^BUT AT VALENCIA ; CASTILE, MADRID, AND THE RAILWAY 
IN SPAIN 


CHAPTER IV. 


I REACH THE FIRST STAGE OF MY JOURNEY, PAUSE, AND START 
AFRESH 


CHAPTER V. 

MALAGA, GRANADA, AND THE ALHAMBRA .. 


CHAPTER VI. 


PAGE 

1 


18 


40 


66 


82 


PENETRATE INTO ANDALUSIA 


• • 


• • 


102 



Vlll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

SWEET SEVILLE .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 116 


CHAPTER VIIL 

STEAM DOWN THE GUADALQUIVIR TO CADIZ .. ^ .. 130 

/ 

CHAPTER THE LAST. 

ADVENTURES AT GIBRALTAR, AND VOYAGE HOME 


.. 132 


LIST OF ILLUSTKATIONS. 


1. Frontispiece —Palm Forest, Elche. 

2. Headpiece 

3. French Eailway Porters 

4. Enter Lyons in Triumph 

5. Ascending the Fourvieres Heights 

6. Mysteries of Bradshaw 

7. French Soldiers 

8. Barcelona 

9. Spanish Beggar 

10. The Diligence .. 

11. Village Urchins 

12. Catalans 

13. Catalonian Peasant 

14. Guardias Civiles .. .. 

15. Valencian Peasant .. 

16. Astonishing the Natives 

17. Murviedro ... 

18. Country Cart and Mules 

19. Valencian Peasant 

20. Doorway, Valencia 

21. Tartana 

22. Bathers 
.23. Concha 

24. The Bull-King, Alicante 

25. Alicante 


PAGE 

.. 1 

4 

7 

9 

11 

12 

18 

21 

25 

26 

27 

28 
29 

34 

35 

36 

37 

39 

40 
42 
'47 

53 

66 

To face page 67 
















X 


LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS. 


26. Buttons 


. 

PAGE 

68 

27. Amateur ’Bus Driving 

.. 

.. 

74 

28. Plaza Kamieo—Alicante 

.. 

To face page 

74 

29. Misery .. 

.. 

.. 

77 

30. At the Cruz de Piedra 

.. 

.. 

81 

31. Malagese Gossips 

.. 

. 

82 

32. Buying a Sombrero 

.. 

.. 

84 

33. Murder most foul 

.. 

.. 

89 

34. The Alhambra, from the 

Generalife 

.. To face page 

93 

35. La Torre de Justicia, Alhambra 

.. .. 

96 

36. Andalusian Peasants .. 

.. 

.. 

102 

37. The Postilion .. 


.. 

106 

38. Mosquitoes 

.. 

.. 

108 

39. Steam .. 

.. 

.. 

112 

40. Figaro’s House, Seville 

.. 

.. 

116 

41. Garotte Execution 

.. 

.. 

126 

42. The Pall 

.. 

.. 

127 

43. The Garotte .. ..• 

.. 

.. 

129 

44. Spanish Padres 

.. 

.. 

130 

45. Carabinero 

.. 

.. 

133 

46. Old Blinko 

.. 

.. 

135 

47. Gibraltar 

.. 

.. 

142 

48. The Saluting Battery, Gibraltar 

.. To face page 

144 

49. In the Galleries 

.. 

.. 

145 

50. Climbing the Eock 

.. 

.. 

146 

51. Ceuta, Africa, from the Eock of Gibraltar. To face page 

148 

52. The Band on board the Ganges 

.. 

154 

53. My Fellow-Passengers 

.. 

.. 

159 

54. A Nigger at his Devotions 

.. 

.. 

160 

55. Homeward Bound! 

.. 

.. 

161 









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SMi. 



HE London season of 1859 is 
nearly over. The parks and gar¬ 
dens are rapidly emptying, the 
theatres and opera-houses are 
beginning to manifest signs of 
shutting up, the Koyal Academy 
is about to be closed, the Thames 
and Serpentine are exhaling me¬ 


phitic vapours. Parliament is on the eve of being 


B 







2 


LONDON. 


prorogued, the heat is becoming intolerable, and 
every one is hurrying out of town, bound for the 
country, the seaside, or the Continent. I can brook 
no further delay in the metropolis, and long to flee 
from its deserted streets, to enjoy my hard-earned 
vacation in foreign climes. Whither shall I bend 
my steps ? I have a month to spare, and all Europe 
lies before me. By chance I take up a work on 
Spain, teeming with graphic accounts of its bull-fights, 
haylarinas^ Andalusian beauties, Alhambra glories, 
and Moorish relics. The die is cast! • To Spain I 
will wing my flight and revel for a transient period 
in that dreamy land of romance and bygone chivalry. 

I confess that a lurking desire to witness a real 
bull-fight (I have laughed heartily over the sham 
one in Leicester Square) forms one of my chief 
inducements to visit Spain, that I may see and judge 
for myself of the excitement, disgust, pity, pleasure, 
or pain, arising from the tauromachian sport so 
enthusiastically upheld by the Spanish nation, and so 
universally condemned and execrated by the other 
civilized nations of the globe. Moreover, as my fidus 
Achates^ my well-beloved coz, Julius Carol (who 
has resided for some years in Spain, and is of course 
thoroughly up in its vernacular, manners, and customs), 
is about to return after spending his vacation in 


DOVER TO CALAIS. 


a 


England, we can travel together, at least as far as his 
destination. 

The journey decided on, and all preparations made, 
the day long and anxiously expected at length arrives, 
and on. the night of the 29th July we find ourselves 
fiitting along to Dover by the mail train, and before 
midnight are on board the Imperatrice (or “ Hem- 
press,” as the steward calls her), fuming and fretting 
in the harbour, apparently as anxious as her living 
freight to proceed on her voyage. In a few minutes 
the deck resounds with the cry of “any one for the 
shore?” followed by the orders to “cast off*the head 
rope!” to “ let go!” and finally to “ move her ahead !” 

The night is pitchy dark; the silence is only 
broken by the shouts echoing from captain to steers¬ 
man to “starboard” and “port” the helm, till at 
length, thie lights of Dover beginning to fade in the 
distance, the final order to “ steady ” is given, the 
captain descends from his perch, we are fairly out 
of the harbour, and la belle France lies before us. 
The gallant boat speedily runs into Calais Harbour ; 
and crossing quickly over the gangway we tread the 
shores of France. A couple of dirty dominiers 
direct us to the station where our passports are vise 
by three dreary old birds sitting behind a counter, 
peering lugubriously through their spectacles in solemn 


4 


CALAIS TO PARIS. 


conclave: this grave and important business over, we 
are soon seated in a luxurious railway carriage and 
whirling along to Paris. 

Waking early in the gray morning dawn from a 
disturbed slumber, I find my fellow-travellers peace¬ 
fully sleeping. Julius lies coiled up on the seat, his 
whole frame quivering and swaying with the rapid 
motion of the train, yet he sleeps like a top and 
snores like a trooper. We flit past rich corn-fields. 



straggling villages, solitary buildings, undulating 
plains, and desolate stations, all looking wholly 
deserted and decidedly chilly. I take forty winks, 
and on again awakening find that we are approach- 




PAEIS. 


ing Amiens, where the engine pulls up to “ licker.” 
A few remarkably filthy porters and squalid railway 
officials, in easy deshabille^ are lounging about the plat¬ 
form, enjoying their matutinal pipes ; but everything is 
still very quiet: the whole train seems asleep as I 
once more compose myself to rest, and do not again 
awake till close to our destination. 

At 9*10 A. M. we reach Paris, and out we bundle, 
all looking and many feeling very seedy, dusty, and 
unkempt. After the usual delay, we have our luggage 
examined and handed over, and take an omnibus bound 
for the Hotel du Louvre. It is now pouring with 
rain, the streets being actually flooded as the ’bus 
rattles through them ; but by the time we have taken 
baths, made our toilettes, and partaken of breakfast, 
the rain has ceased, and we sally forth for a stroll 
about the charming streets of this delightful capital. 

O those glorious Boulevards! those pleasant 
Champs Elysees! that magnificent Place de la 
Concorde! that grand Eue Pivoli! what charms 
have not these gay promenades for the smoke-dried 
cockney! and again, the motley contents of the shop 
windows, what temptations do they not offer! the 
palatial cafes, what luxuries do they not suggest! 

It is now past noon, the heat has become intense, 
and we determine to seek shelter in the Bois de 


6 


PAKIS TO LYONS. 


Boulogne. A remise soon conveys us thither, and 
we wander about its leafy avenues and shady groves, 
admiring its ornamental waters, till the setting sun 
warns us to return. After a dinner such as the 
Palais Eoyal alone can provide, a visit to the theatre, 
a call on some friends in the Chaussee d’Antin, we re¬ 
turn to the hotel, wearied with the rambles of the day. 

Next morning we rise with the lark, and betaking 
ourselves to the Boulevard Mazas, start for Lyons by 
the 7*30 A. M. express. Having, for the consideration 
of an extra fare of ten francs, acquired the monopoly 
of a luxurious couipe^ we contrive, with a good supply 
of the fragrant weed, buoyant spirits, and the latest 
Galignani, to pass the term of our imprisonment in 
tolerable comfort*, for we are hilariously jolly, and 
not a little musical, ransacking from the store¬ 
house of our memories many dear old English airs, 
which we sing con amore^ with great power, har¬ 
mony, and pathos; like Hermia and Helena, ^ 
literally— 

“ Sitting on one cushion, 

Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; 

As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, 

Had been incorporate.” 

Behold us at various stations madly racing to 
the buffet^ laying in fresh supplies of Chablis, and 
performing delirious hornpipes on the platforms. 


LYONS. 


to the great diversion of our bearded fellow-passen¬ 
gers, who evidently set us down as two demented 
rosbifs fresh from Bedlam. 

The day passes but too quickly, and we are sur¬ 
prised, when the train stops for the passengers to dine, 
to find that it is close upon noon. Tonnerre, Dijon, 
and Macon are speedily passed, and shortly after 6 p. m. 
we arrive at the Perrache Station at Lyons. An om¬ 
nibus is waiting to convey passengers to their hotels: 
a crowd of foreigners rush to secure inside places, 
but we, preferring the outside, mount the roof, and 



ENTER LYONS IN TRIUMPH. 













LYONS. 


Chance leads us to the Hotel de I’Europe, a huge 
building abounding in court-yards and prolific in 
doorways and corridors, where we are allotted a 
spacious apartment looking out upon the Saone and 
the Fourvieres heights. We lose little or no time 
in brushing up, and repair to the Place Louis le 
Grand, a magnificent square, which, it being a fete 
day, is thronged with holiday folk listening to the 
strains of a military band and imbibing Here de 
Lyons to an enormous and horrifying extent. 

After strolling about for an hour or two, we visit 
several cafes cliantants where our ears are assailed 
by the energetic vocalization of sundry stout-lunged 
ladies and gentlemen, who seem to be doing their 
utmost to crack their own voices and the ears of their 
enraptured audiences; every one seems so highly 
delighted withal that we leave them to their en¬ 
joyment, and passing into the pretty theatre, hear a 
solemn farce performed to an evidently appreciative 
house. Ultimately we return to our hotel, throw 
open the windows to their widest extent, for the heat 
is intense, and jump into bed and the arms of 
Morpheus simultaneously. 

On the following morning up betimes, and vigor¬ 
ously ‘doing’ the old town, we ramble about the 
quays and bridges, crowded with carts, horses, and 


LYONS. 


9 


numbers of country people coming into the town 
with their market produce. Passing the cathedral, 
we ascend the Fourvieres heights by one of the 
steepest and worst roads it has ever been my lot to 
climb; but manfully resisting the importunities of 
sundry damsels, who vainly endeavour to seduce iis 



into purchasing rosaries, beads, and crucifixes, appa¬ 
rently the staple commodities of the place, we push 
on, excelsior! excelsior! till at last we reach the sum¬ 
mit of the hill and are amply repaid for our toil by 
the magnificent view which bursts upon us. The 
ancient towm of Lyons, intersected by the rivers 
Rhone and Saone, lies like a map at our feet, 
with the surrounding country stretching away even 
as far as Mont Blanc, whose outline we can just 








10 


LYONS. 


imagine in the distance. We return to the town 
by an apparently interminable flight of steps, the 
descent of which is extremely fatiguing and dis¬ 
agreeable, and the vile odours which salute our 
olfactories in the lower part of the town in no way 
tend to restore our equanimity. 

Being at Lyons, reminiscences of Lytton’s cele¬ 
brated drama of course crowd upon me : at 
every turn I expect to see M. Deschapelles hurry¬ 
ing to his counting-house; in every carriage I try to 
recognize Pauline and her ambitious maternal rela¬ 
tive; in every garden I look for Claude Melnotte 
writing poetry among his paternal cabbages; at every 
auherge I endeavour to discover the villain Beau- 
seant plotting his treacherous schemes with his 
wretched tool, Glavis. Ah! who is that ancient 
buffer in regimentals ? Surely it is our old friend 
Colonel Damas ? Alas ! no ! I fear “ these, our actors, 
have vanished into thin air,” and the only members 
of the dramatis personce I venture to assume 
remain upon the stage, are those three dirty som~ 
lieutenants, who I make up my mind must be the first, 
second, and third officers that perform such grave 
and important parts in the “ Lady of Lyons.” 

Again we find ourselves on the rail, this time 
bound for Marseilles. We start at 10*20 a. m. ; 


LYONS TO MAESEILLES. 


11 


but scarcely have we done so than we make 
a not unusual discovery, which fills me with dis- 
niay; I find, to my unutterable disgust, that I 
have blundered in my reading of Bradshaw; that 



we are in a ‘‘parly,” or omnibus train, instead of 
the express, with the cheerful prospect before us 
of stopping at every station on the road. The 
stoppages, however, enable me to take several hasty 
sketches of the beautiful scenery of the Bhone, 
parallel to which the railway runs for a considerable 
distance. Several up trains pass us on the way to 
Paris, whither they are conveying troops just returned 
from thrashing the Austrians in Italy ; the principal 










12 


THE EHONE. 


stations are crowded with sun-burnt, hardy-looking, 
tough little fellows, whose travel-worn, ragged ap¬ 
pearance plainly indicates that they have but recently 
experienced the stern realities of war. 



Onward by the banks of the Rhone, winding its 
way through vine-clad hills to the Mediterranean, 
we pass successively. Valence, Montelimar, Orange, 
Avignon, and Tarascon; and by the time we reach 
Rognac it begins to grow dusk; we whizz through 
several tunnels, and at 6*35 p. m. arrive at Marseilles. 
We are detained an unconscionable time waiting for 
our luggage, all the passengers huddled together in 
in one large room without a single bench to rest 
upon. After a tedious delay our trunks are handed 
over and we drive to the Hotel des Empereurs, 
in the Rue Cannebiere, a fine thoroughfare stretching 







MARSEILLES. 


13 


down to the quay, where we slake our thirst with 
some execrable Lyons beer, and retire to rest. 

To rest, but not for long! for at an unholy 
hour of the morning springing madly from my couch, 
in a state of desperation from a combined attack 

of -, who have evidently conspired to deprive 

me of all sleep, I am compelled to stalk moodily 
about the tiled floor watching Julius, who, as usual, 
is snoozing away as if no such insects existed. 
Wearily passes the time till the hour comes when 
I can conscientiously awaken the sleeper; and we 
set off to explore the town and harbour. Walking 
to the end of the main dock, I catch my first glimpse 
of the Mediterranean. It is a heavenly morning, not 
a cloud obscures the azure sky; the gentle breeze 
scarcely ruffles the surface of the tranquil sea, 
which is of an intensely deep cobalt, and dotted with 
snow-white sails. 

The steam transport Magellan just arrived from 
Genoa, is disgorging shoals of dusty, bronzed soldiers 
of the 46th Regiment, who are swarming about 
the quays. Here my theatrical, preconceived notions 
of vivandieres are rudely put to flight by the appari¬ 
tion of several coarse, masculine-looking women, the 
true daughters of the regiment; but oh, how dif¬ 
ferent from charming little Piccolomini in her be 


14 


MAESEILLES. 


witching personification of La Figlia del Reggimento I 
In the course of the morning, we see the whole 
regiment, twelve hundred strong, march through the 
town, en route for the railway station. We now have 
our remaining French money exchanged for Spanish 
dollars and take tickets by the steamer for Barcelona. 

The streets of Marseilles strike me as being 
particularly dirty, filled as they are with filthy ofial 
and reeking with horrible, overpowering smells; nor 
is this surprising, seeing that the drainage is carried 
along shallow gutters on the pavement instead of 
through underground sewers. 

At 11 A. M. we proceed on board the Madrid^ 
and steam out of the harbour, passing the famed 
Chateau d'lf of Monte Christo celebrity, and heading 
out for the Gulf of Lyons. Our fellow-passengers 
consist chiefly of Spaniards and Frenchmen, and of 
course a few Englishmen; where, indeed, are the 
latter not to be found ? There is a jolly, fat old padre 
on board, who does nothing but eat and pray during 
the whole passage. A slim, oily young Spaniard, in a 
gorgeous scarlet scull-cap, with a still more gorgeous 
tassel, and a beetle-browed, frowsy Catalan wrangle 
for hours, disputing about the beauty and elegance of 
English ladies. The Catalan roundly aflSrms that, 
from all he has heard, they walk like cows, and 


THE MEDITEERANEAN. 


15 


drink beer all day an assertion which he of the cap 
indignantly denies, basing his arguments on the fact 
of his having visited London, where he has formed a 
more correct opinion of the Senoritas Ingleses. This 
is enough to make the travelled Castilian our fast 
friend, and the scowling Catalan our mortal enemy, 
and as such we remain till the end of the voyage. 

The day, like the morning, is remarkably fine: not 
a ripple disturbs the placid bosom of the intensely 
blue waters, and the hours glide rapidly by as we 
breakfast and dine on the deck, and enjoy the glories 
of the setting sun over a bottle of genuine cognac, and 
a modicum of 'the weed,’ smuggled away in our 
pockets from England. As evening advances we 
wander into the bows, inhaling the deliciously cool 
breeze, and watching the lights of Cape Creus re¬ 
volving in the distant horizon. 

Passing the engine-room on our return to the 
quarter-deck, I am seized with a desire to inspect the 
machinery; and we accordingly descend into its 
clanking depths, to the intense disgust of the 
engineer, who in strong language expresses his 
unmitigated dissatisfaction at our intrusion. We 
have some difficulty in pacifying the irate machinist 
through the intervention of a Mr. Eobert Candler, 
whom we find in close confab with the stoker, and 


16 


AN OEIGINAL. 


who subsequently gets very gratuitously communica¬ 
tive. Without the smallest provocation, he invites us 
to the cabin to join him in a bottle of mn ordinaire^ 
under the influence of which our new friend becomes 
very confidential. He informs us, inter alia^ that he 
“ was horse-trainer to the Due de Grammont; thinks 
Earey’s system d—d humbug; is a Scotchman by 
birth; has been a bruiser; has fought the something 
pet in rather less than forty-three minutes; is con¬ 
sidered by his numerous circle of acquaintance ‘ a 
good ladhas muscle; has been engaged in deadly 
encounters with Genoese assassins, two of whom he 
on one occasion fought with his single arm, and i 
finally quieted by kicking on the brain; speaks four ; 
languages, understands five; has dined at the tables of 
dukes and marquises; has a big brother-in-law resid- 
ing in Crutched Friars; knows the world ; has a word I 
of honour, supposes we have the same; is covered ! 
with scars received in defending the honour of his j 
country; can throw a summerset; and, finally, is on his I 
way to Madrid to fulfil an engagement as tumbling^ 
clown at Price’s circus.” | 

Highly diverted by our friend’s garrulity and 1 
humour, we bid him good-night, and turn in under 
the table of the saloon, a four-poster improvised for 
the occasion. Coming on deck early the next 


BARCELONA. 


17 


morning, we find ourselves close to Barcelona, the 
town lying behind a long pier, beneath a back¬ 
ground of steep mountains; in a few minutes we 
round the light-house, and cast anchor under the 
shadow of the ever-memorable fortress of Monjuich, 
which Peterborough so gallantly assaulted and carried 
with a mere handful of hardy English soldiers in 
1705. On a lofty, barren, and apparently impreg¬ 
nable rock stands the citadel; and great indeed must 
have been the surprise of the inhabitants of Barce¬ 
lona, when, on the 13th September, they descried the 
British flag proudly waving on its summit. 

We confide our passports to the care of the captain, to 
be afterwards restored to us at our hotel, and jumping 
into a boat are rowed to the shore in company with our 
whilom associate. Bob Candler, whom we here lose 
sight of. Alas! poor Yorick! on my return to 
England I was much shocked at hearing of the poor 
fellow’s untimely death, caused by an accident at 
Madrid. Peace to thy ashes, rare Bob Candler I 


c 


BARCELONA. 


CHAPTER IL ■ 

MATRICULATE AS A SPANISH TRAVELLER. 

WE set foot in Spain amid a host of ragged rascals, 
noisy porters, importunate beggars, and sorry mules. 
Our trunks are hustled into a miserable shed, for the 
inspection of the custom-house officials; here I find 
myself , perfectly helpless, and confide entirely in 




















SPANISH COINAGE. 


19 


Julius, who, after a great deal of harsh, and to me 
unintelligible language, manages to pass our impedi¬ 
menta^ and we enter a shaky-looking conveyance, 
which takes us into the town. 

How attempt to describe the beautiful streets of 
this remarkably picturesque city ? Though narrow 
and confined, like the generality of Spanish streets, 
they are well paved and clean; the houses are lofty, 
and from every window and balcony stream long sun- 
blinds of every imaginable colour, giving to the long 
lines of perspective a novel and striking appearance. 
I am enchanted with the glorious vistas appearing'at 
every turn. We drive to the Fonda de las Cuatro 
naciones, situated in the Ramhla^ a noble thorough¬ 
fare, one thousand feet long, lined with beautiful trees 
and shrubs. Having secured a room, and also baths, 
an indispensable luxury in this southern clime, and, 
generally speaking, excellent in Spain, we make an 
equally indispensable call on Senor Koaka, where I 
exchange a circular note for hard cash. 

The Spanish coinage consists of onzas^ media onzas, 
isabelinos^ dohlones^ dos duros and duros, or sixteen, 
eight, five, four, two, and one dollar gold pieces; 
silver dollars, half-dollars, quarter-dollars, or pesetas 
colunarias^ pesetas^ and reales de vellon. The latter 
coin amounts to about two-and-a-half pence English, 


20 


BAKCELONA. 


four make di peseta, twenty are equal to a dollar, and 
a hundred to about one pound sterling. French 
five-franc pieces, or Napoleons, as they are called, 
worth nineteen reales^ circulate in much greater abun¬ 
dance than the silver dollar. 

The day is spent in perambulating the town, and 
seeing, among other lions, the fine cathedral and the 
church of Santa Maria del Mar^ commenced in 
1328, a grand old building. Pushing aside the 
enormous curtain forming the doorway, we enter 
the porch, reverently uncovering, and stepping softly, 
for mass is being performed. A “ dim religious light ” 
pervades the lofty roof, and sheds through richly 
stained windows a feeble lustre on the graceful 
columns, pointed arches, and gorgeous decorations 
of the altar, surrounded by elaborate statues of the 
Virgin. Leaving the church, we walk to ih^Muralla 
del Mar, a fine marine parade, extending more than 
a quarter of a mile in a straight line, and built on the 
mural rampart which protects the sea face of the 
town; it commands a fine view of the harbour, 
where we see the Madrid getting under way for 
Alicante. 

Ford calls Barcelona ‘‘ the Manchester of Catalonia, 
which is the Lancashire of the Peninsula; ” it is a 
thriving city, with a population of about 120,000 


SPANISH BEGGARS. 


21 


souls. The shops are mean and petty as compared 
with the rich emporiums of our English capitals ; 
but the cafes in the Ramhla far exceed anything 
of the kind I have seen at home. 

Innumerable beggars assail us at every turn with 
their everlasting cry of Una Ihnosna por el amor 
de Dios There is no getting rid of them, for the 
simple reason they do not understand my English, 
and Julius (or Julio, as I must now call him) is evi¬ 
dently determined to see me bled freely rather than 
come to my rescue with the conventional excuse of 
“ Perdone usted por Dios^ hermano U an infallible 
remedy, as I afterwards ascertain, for shaking off 
these troublesome bloodsuckers, whom, however, a 



hearty volley of English expletives has at last the 
effect of sending to the right about. 










22 SENOKAS. 

We pass several charming senoras^ wearing the 
elegant mantilla^ attended hy aged criadas, or female • 
servants, who stick to their heels like faithful spaniels, 
and dart ferocious glances towards me as I auda¬ 
ciously peer at their young mistresses. High and 
low, rich and poor, all carry fans, and at first it 
seems absurd enough to he importuned by a frowsy 
old beggar, who solicits alms with one hand while 
she fans herself with the other. These mendi¬ 
cants, in which Spain is so prolific, are, however, not 
so old as they seem; the Spanish women soon fade, 
get flabby, bloated, and forbidding in appearance; 
never have I seen such fearful hags as now meet my 
averted gaze. 

To my great chagrin I find that the theatre is 
closed, and am therefore compelled to forego seeing i 
one of the largest in Europe. Huge placards, garnished | 
with spirited representations of ferocious bulls, adorn 4 
every wall, dead or alive, setting forth the now stale* 
information that a grand bull-fight has taken place* 
two days previously. My curiosity to see this ex* 
citing spectacle increases tenfold, and I long for* 
Madrid and look forward to Valencia to gratify it. 
Fatigued with sight-seeing, though everything is to 
me very novel and interesting, we return to the 
Cuatro naciones, where I go in for my first Spanish 


SPANISH COOKEEY. 


23 


dinner, which I find also decidedly novel; in 
point of fact, a delusion and a snare. As the immortal 
Ingoldsby has written: 

“ In fact, of the few 
Individuals I knew 

Who ever had happened to travel in Spain, 

There has scarce been a person who did not complain 
Of their cookery and dishes as all had in grain. 

And no one I’m sure will deny it who’s tried a 
Vile compound they have that’s called Olla podrida^ 

At least twenty different dishes are handed round, 
the fish coming in last; nasty compounds of rice, oil, 
and garlic, mysterious mixtures calledcon¬ 
sumptive-looking fowls, greasy junks of beef, adipose 
lumps of mutton, form the main items of the menu; 
small talk and cigarillos come in between the courses, 
and the whole is topped off with figs, olives, grapes, 
melons, and a villainous decoction miscalled wine, 
which sets the teeth on edge for the rest of the day. 
This sumptuous repast over, we sally forth to secure 
places in the diligence for Valencia, which cost us 
ten dollars each; and sauntering about the Ramhla 
amuse ourselves by getting up a scramble for cuartos, 
or farthings, among a flock of young urchins who 
soon surround us in shoals. At length up drives the 
dilly, and a queer, dissipated-looking affair it is, with 
its huge yellow body divided into the interior and 


24 


THE DILiaENCE. 


herlina (answering to the coupe in French diligences), 
surmounted by the correo^ or mail box, and piles of 
luggage. The words “ Barcelonesas, No. 6,” are 
painted so conspicuously on the panels that we incur 
no danger of being lost on the toilsome journey which 
lies before us. The team comprises ten horses and 
mules yoked together by mysterious and artfully- 
contrived combinations of ropes, chains, and untanned 
leather : so rickety is the whole affair that we have to 
stop once an hour, on an average, to repair damages. 
The postilion^ a bright-looking youth, in a broad 
sombrero, a scarlet handkerchief knotted round his 
head, a pUrple jacket, and blue trousers, mounts the 
near leader; the mayoral, or driver, ascends the box, 
and grabs a thick rope attached to halters • at the 
wheelers’ heads; the zagal, or supernumerary driver 
and whipper-in, rushes up to the horses, and lashes 
them most unmercifully; all yell and scream in 
concert, arrea! arrea! alza!! alza / / alza I!!” and 
off we go as hard as the animals can put foot to 
ground; ventre h terre we dash through the town, 
up the Ramhla, sharp round the corner, through the 
archway, and out into the country beyond. 

The country! word suggestive to an Englishman 
of hill and dale, woods, meadows, and running 
streams, but a word generally meaning in Spain a 




THE DILIGENCE. 


25 



succession of bleak, barren, stern-looking mountains, 
and long, long roads covered with thick layers of 
dust. What makes the aloe, the cactus, and 
palm look so ghostly as they rear their h 


DILIGENCE. 

heads above the roads ? Dust. What gives a uni¬ 
form pallor to the horses, mules, harness, and dili¬ 
gence? Dust. What makes drivers, postilion, and 
travellers resemble millers ? Dust. In dense clouds 


26 


THE DUST. 


it shrouds the whole vehicle, and ascending high into 
the air, hangs like a pall over the road long after the 
cavalcade has passed. It forces its way through the 
windows and fills the mouth, iiose, ears, and eyes 
of the unhappy occupant; we literally “ bite the dust.” 
The jolting coming out of the town is terrific, but the 
roads happily improve as we advance. Before night¬ 
fall we pass through several miserably poor villages; 
the immense doorways of the cottages filled with the 
inhabitants, working, playing the guitar, and “ hunt¬ 
ing,” as a favourite pastime of the poorer classes 



is usually designated. Stark naked, brown little 
urchins, with ample pot-bellies, gape open-mouthed at 


CATALONIA. 


27 


the dilly as it dashes through the village; the in¬ 
evitable porker, who always occupies a prominent 
position in the streets, gives a dissatisfied grunt, and 
frisks away to the innermost recesses of his den. 

The peasantry of Catalonia are clothed in long, 
dark-coloured trousers; the manta; conical, broad- 
brimmed sombrerosy or gorros, red or black caps 



CATALANS. 


doubled over the forehead or side of the head. The 
females, wisely eschewing any pretensions to crinoline, 
wear tight, short bodices, and cotton handkerchiefs 
over the head and shoulders. 

Stopping at a road-side venta^ about dusk, to 
change horses, we go in for a refresco, of which our 
parched tongues are sadly in need; but the only 
liquor we can obtain is some vile anis brandy which 
I cannot drink and am obliged to content myself 


28 


FLEAS. 


with tepid aqua fresca, so called on the lucus a non 
lucendo principle. Bitterly do I afterwards regret 
having entered that dreary inn, for therein finding a 



CATALONIAN PEASANT. 


lovely child, I fondle her in my arms, to the intense 
delight of her worthy maternal relative; but, alas ! from 
this moment I am a martyr to a colony of fleas, 
which for one whole month effects a lodgment in my 




GUARDIAS CIVILES. 


29 


garments; nor does the enemy evacuate the premises 
till my return to England—oh, a lively buffer is the 
Spanish flea! 

About midnight we' pass Villafranca, and despite 
the rolling of the diligence, I fall into an uneasy 
slumber, waking every now and then with a start, to 
see the mules wending their way among the hills, or 
rattling along the level plain, under the glare of the 



GUAHDIAS CHILES. 

powerful lamp fixed in front of the vehicle* Anon we 
pass two spectral figures by the road-side, armed with 




30 


TAKRAGONA. 


heavy carbines, and sporting huge cocked hats; these 
are Guardias Civiles, or rural police, a remarkably fine I 
body of men, somewhat resembling the gendarmerie of | 
France. All the while the drivers keep up their as- | 
tounding yells, Arrea! alza!! alza I!! never flagging 
throughout the whole journey—down jumps the zagal, 
and rushing up to the leaders, spanks away at each 
horse or mule in succession, running alongside the now ; 
flying team with wonderful activity, and remounting j 
the box without even allowing his cigarillo to go out. | 
Meanwhile he of the ribbons has not been idle, i 
having loaded the box with huge stones, which he | 
flings at the four-footed victims of his displeasure : 
with marvellous dexterity, never by any chance j 
missing his aim, as is evidenced by the answering 
kick which follows the discharge of each missile. 
Thus the wretched animals are goaded along; yet, 
notwithstanding all this exertion and superfluous 
energy, our average speed, including stoppages, 
scarcely amounts to two leagues per hour. 

In the cold gray dawn of morning we reach | 
Tarragona, where the diligence halts for a brief 
space, that we may break our fast on very thick 
chocolate, eaten with roley-poley biscuits. Tarra¬ 
gona is but the ghost of its former self, when in 
the days of the Eomans its population amounted 




TAERAGONA. 


31 


to upwards of a million souls, now dwindled down to 
about eleven thousand. In 1813 it was the scene of 
a horrid massacre by Suchet, when, on the entry of 
the French troops, the women and children, flocking 
to the English boats, were, as at Cawnpore in later 
times, cruelly shot down by order of the brutal con¬ 
queror. The most interesting feature of the place is 
the old Eoman viaduct, ‘‘ IIperle del dimolo^'' seven 
hundred feet long, and ninety-six feet high, built on 
two tiers of arches. The town contains a fine cathe¬ 
dral and chapels; the harbour is unimportant and 
not overcrowded with shipping. 

Passing to the west of Tarragona, we cross the 
dried-up bed of a broad river, used in summer as a 
road. The country here becomes more fertile and 
luxuriant in algarroho, or locust-trees, almonds, and 
wide-spreading vineyards. The great sign of civiliza¬ 
tion is the electric telegraph, which even in this 
lonely region stretches its wires high above the road, 
cheering the traveller with its social influences, though 
sadly depreciating the romantic features of the scenery. 
The road and fields seem wholly deserted, and the 
wonder is whence come the tillers of the innumerable 
acres of plantation surrounding us on all sides. 

On our route we pass the wonderful natural harbour 
of Alfaques, formed by an arm of the land running a 


32 


CEOSS THE EBEO. 


long way into the sea, and enclosing a large area of 
sheltered anchorage. 

At 2 p. M. we reach the River Ebro, and leaving 
the diligence, are ferried across the stream (which for 
blackness might rival the Thames or the Styx) by a 
sun-burnt old Charon, and dine at the parador de las 
diligencias of the adjacent village Amposta. Our 
party is beautifully select, consisting only of Julio and 
myself, occupants of the herlina^ and a very shady- 
looking individual who has apparently been even 
more annoyed by the heat and dust than ourselves, 
so pertinaciously does he impress upon me that it is 
“ mucho ealor,'' to whichl assent by senor^ rather!” 

Dinner, mockery of mockeries, being over, coachy 
sings out ‘‘vamosT' we once more stow ourselves iii 
the herlina^ and drive off amid the blessings of our 
hostess and the muchaelia^ her black-eyed daughter, 
whom I have conciliated to an immense extent by 
presenting with the brooch of my old Glengarry. 
I observe several curious wells hereabouts, similar to 
those used in Egypt, for the irrigation of the country. 
A mule, walking in a circle, turns a large horizontal 
wheel, working a smaller vertical one surrounded by 
a rope and buckets. 

!“ The emptier ever dancing in the air, 

The other down, unseen, and full of water.” 


LOS YALENCIANOS. 


33 


By this simple contrivance the water is conveyed to 
the fields, and the ground kept in a continual state of 
moisture; for unless these artificial means were re¬ 
sorted to, the fields would soon become baked to a 
cinder, as rain, except at certain seasons, rarely 
comes to refresh the Spanish soil. 

Crossing the river Cenia, we enter the kingdom 
of Valencia, where the peasantry in dress and 
appearance differ widely from the Catalonians. 
They are swarthy, brawny fellows, clad in loose 
white tunics and drawers reaching to the knee; 
gay handkerchiefs knotted round their heads, and 
alpargatas^ or hempen sandals, fastened to their feet; 
many are wrapped in their mantas, blue striped 
blankets carelessly thrown round the shoulders, 
and falling over in graceful folds. Some of the old 
men are literally black as crows, and I can almost 
fancy myself in Bengal, surrounded by Coolies in their 
scanty attire, for on the whole the spectacle is de¬ 
cidedly oriental, and the solitary palms rising from 
the sun-burnt plains add greatly to the illusion. The 
road lies along the sea-coast: on the left the lapis 
lazuli-\\kQ waters of the Mediterranean, on our right 
the broad table land, terminated by a ridge of moun¬ 
tains. Late in the afternoon we reach Benicarlo 
and pull up, under the shadow of the church ; here 


34 


BENICARLO. 


Julio is warmly greeted by several of his acquaint¬ 
ances, who are taking their ease in the square, and 
who, in the true spirit of Spanish friendship, rush 



VALENCTAN PEASANT. 

frantically into his arms and bear him away. He 
soon returns however, bringing with him a bottle 
of excellent claret, an inestimable boon to the thirsty 


ALCALA DE CHISVEKT. 


35 


traveller when the thermometer is at 85 degrees 
in the shade. As we are about to start, in pops an 
obese young Spaniard, of course to our no small 
dismay, as the additional company of a fat man in 
the limited accommodation of the herlina is in no 
way conducive to our comfort. However, there 
is no help . for it, so we place him between us, 
and as night advances, he slumbers first on my 
shoulder, and then on my friend’s, as we shove him 
remorselessly from side to side. At Alcala de 


Chisvert, I sketch some of the peasantry, who 
seem highly diverted and astonished as they crowd 
around, and pass their loudly proclaimed criticisms 





















36 


MURYIEDKO. 


on my humble performance. At 10 p.m. we stop 
at Castellon de la Plana, a village renowned as 
being the birthplace of Eibalta ; the night is very 
dark, and the village silent as the grave, as we once 
more proceed on our journey. 

Early on the following morning, August 5, we enter 



STREET IN MUEVIEDRO. 


Murviedro, the ancient Saguntum, founded in 1384, 
B.C., by the Greeks of Zacynthus. It is an interest¬ 
ing old town, with its circumvallations, rocky slopes, 
and citadel, and I very much regret that our briet 







THE EOAD. 


37 


stay prevents me from exploring the Roman re- 
Qiains of this once famous city. The roads are now 
filled with peasantry, going to their daily toil. Num¬ 
bers of carts laden with reclining figures, and tawny 
fellows, sitting sideways on their patient mules, 
decorated with gaudy scarlet tassels, pass us every 
minute. The carts are primitive contrivances. 



being nothing more than a timber platform sur¬ 
mounted on wheels, and studded with rough stakes. 
The nave of the wheel is ‘ skidded ’ by a pole 
fastened to the front of the cart, and lashed firmly, 
when necessary, to a cross bar at the back. The 
country is well cultivated, and rich in the prickly 






38 


VALENCIA. 


pear, the aloe, and the palm. As the diligence 
rumbles along its final stage, I produce a pair of cas¬ 
tanets, and commence a lively song to the clicking 
accompaniment, a proceeding which instantly raises 
me forty per cent, in the estimation of the drivers, 
who have already formed a favourable opinion of the 
Caballero Ingles, from the numerous cigars with which 
he has freely plied them during the journey. Jovial, 
cheery fellows are the mayoral and zagal; songs, 
jests, proverbs, cigaritos, water-melons, and mild 
though copious refrescos carry them over weary 
miles with unflagging energy. The postilion is a 
frisky little chap, haVdy in frame and hided like the 
rhinoceros ; many and many a league rides the sturdy 
youth apparently unfatigued, though it makes me shift 
uneasily in my seat to see him jolting up and down 
for hours in the saddle. 

We reach Valencia at 7 a. m!, and drive into the 
town : it is really surprising to see the clever manner 
in which the mules pilot the dilly through the narrow 
windings of the streets, going right up to the corners 
and wheeling about at a spanking trot, without ever 
running foul of anything in their headlong career. 

Having secured rooms at the Fonda Madrid, we 
eagerly seek the Calle de los Banos, feeling actually 
incrusted with the dust accumulated in a journey of 




VALENCIA. 


89 



thirty-six hours, extending over upwards of two‘hun¬ 
dred miles of road. Not a little refreshed by our 
ablutions, we breakfast at the table d’hote amid a bevy 
of silly young people, who are encouraging a stupid 
lad to swallow bumpers of raw brandy; an operation 
he performs without wincing, though with what result 
we fortunately have no opportunity of witnessing. 
After a brief siesta we sally forth to see the town. 


40 



DOORWAY. 


CHAPTEE III. 

MY DEBUT AT VALENCIA ; CASTILE, MADRID, A^D 
THE RAILWAY IN SPAIN. 

Valencia, like Barcelona, is very beautiful and 
picturesque; every turn and bend in the streets 
disclose fresh beauties ; the effect of the gay 
streamers, dazzling white buildings, deep shadows. 








































































VALENCIA. 


41 


and mellow middle tints, is really magical. The 
doorways of the Houses are enormous; they form the 
entrance both to the dwelling and the stable. 

The principal plaza^ El Mercado^ or market¬ 
place; situated in the heart of the city, presents a 
scene of the liveliest animation and bustle; the 
square is crammed with people, stalls, shops, and piles 
of enormous melons. The Lonja de Seda^ a Gothic 
building commenced in 1482, consists of a noble hall 
with tall fluted columns, filled with stalls covered 
with rich masses of golden silk offered for sale. 

Valencia was finally wrested from the Moors in 
1236, by James I., of Aragon, who died here at 
an advanced age, universally beloved. It was the 
favourite resort of Peterborough, who marched hither 
in face of the greatest difiiculties and hardships in 
February, 1706. The cathedral. La Seo, possesses but 
few claims to architectural beauty; its chief attrac¬ 
tions being the rich carvings, curious relics, alabaster 
sculptures, decorated panels, and exquisite paintings. 

There are several other churches, chapels, and 
private galleries which can boast of magnificent works 
by the old Spanish masters, Joanes “ the Spanish 
Eaphael,” Francisco and Juan de Ribalta, Eibera, 
Esteban March and Espinosa, an excellent descrip¬ 
tion of which may be found in a book entitled 


42 


THE TAETANA. 



‘ Spain as it is,’ giving, in a classified form, a concise 
synopsis of the best paintings in Valencia, Murcia, 
Madrid, Seville, and Valladolid. 

About midday we hire a tartana, or Spanish cab. 


a covered car wholly innocent of springs and horribly 
uncomfortable, in which we are jolted and bumped to 
the Alameda^ or public promenade, a beautiful avenue 
skirting the banks of the river Tuvia, or Guadalaviar, 
spanned by two massive bridges, albeit the stream, 
from being largely taxed to irrigate the country, is 
nearly dry. Glorious indeed is the surrounding 
scenery, rich in poplars, algarroho trees, olives, and 
palms. Returning, we visit the Glorieta^ another 



THE THEATEE. 


43 


favourite promenade, and much frequented resort of 
the inhabitants in the cool hours of evening. 

It is now fearfully hot:— 

j , . “ The sky became 

j Stagnate with heat, so that each cloud and blast 

Languished and died ; the thirsting air did claim 
I All moisture.” 

j The whole place is deserted ; with the exception of the 
I wretched brown-coated sentries and ourselves, all are 
\ enjoying their siestas. To escape the glare of the 
burning sun, we seek refuge in the cool portals of the 
theatre, where the ‘janitor aulce ’ confides us to the care 
of his little daughter who, armed with a huge bunch 
of keys, shows us into the pit. The theatre is a fine 
one, our hearts warm at the sight of it, and madly 
climbing on to the stage, the house soon resounds, 
probably for the first time, with choice selections 
from our immortal bard; but when we come to 
Macbeth’s despairing scenes and wind up with his 
final encounter with Macduff, the little girl gets so 
frightened, and re-echoes our “hold, enough !” so stre¬ 
nuously, that we are compelled to moderate our heroics 
and descend to the milder dialogues of Hamlet and 
Horatio. Having given the soliloquy on death in 
a quiet and impressive style, and ultimately probed 
Julio with the point of my w^alking-stick to the tune 




44 


SPANISH CRIPPLES. 


of ^‘Then, venom, to thy work!” we expire in a 
solemn manner, and coming to life again, bow grace¬ 
fully to our supposititious audience, and retire amid 
imaginary showers of bouquets and thunders of ap¬ 
plause. Our little guide appears quite bewildered 
at this extraordinary performance and evidently 
entertains serious doubts regarding our sanity, false 
impressions speedily removed by the timely grati- 
ficacioncita of a couple of pesetas. 

On our return to the Fonda we meet with a strange 
adventure, the remembrance of which makes me 
shudder. Propped against a dead wall is a row of 
frightful cripples in every stage of disease and muti¬ 
lation \ some with but one leg, some with no legs 
at all, some without arms, some blind, some deaf, 
and others with horribly distorted forms. At the 
sight of two Englishmen, the unfortunate wretches, 
anticipating a golden harvest, simultaneously scramble 
towards us, dragging their emaciated limbs in wonder¬ 
fully nimble style. Terrified at the charge of this 
infernal phalanx, we fairly turn tail, and flee wildly 
from its approach, nor do we venture to look behind 
us till far beyond pursuit. I was literally in a 
cold perspiration; and when Julio set off to visit 
some of his acquaintance, I scarcely durst wander 
forth alone, for fear of again encountering the ghastly 


THE GKAO. 


45 


cre,w. Julio, however, soon rejoins me at the Fonda^ 
where we trifle with a dinner strongly resembling the 
former banquet at Barcelona, the wine if possible 
being a shade worse than any we have previously 
tasted. In the cool of the evening, Mr. Trevor, an 
English gentleman residing in Valencia with his 
family, kindly drives us' in liis carriage, a light 
English car with springs, drawn by a fine, high- 
stepping chestnut, to the Grao or seaport, some 
three miles distant. It is the Brighton of Valencia, 
and hither a .general exodus takes place every 
evening, when all the inhabitants who can afford the 
luxury of a tartana^ drive down during the summer 
to enjoy the pure sea-breeze. The whole road is 
lined with vehicles going at a walking pace, filled 
with ladies in white muslin dresses, and gentlemen in 
Panama hats and snowy inexpressibles. I am forcibly 
reminded of the road home from the Derby, which 
this somewhat resembles on a small scale. 

The Grao is nothing more than a badly sheltered 
anchorage, containing a few vessels. The village 
consists of two avenues of white one-storied cottages, 
the marine residences of the wealthier gentry of 
Valencia. We go over a perfume manufactory, 
where the essence of sweet-smelling herbs is being 
extracted from the plants through the medium of 


46 


hokchata. 


vats, bottles, tanks, reservoirs, and a high-preSsure 
steam-engine, which seems strangely out of place 
in this region of voluptuous dhandoTi and beauty# 
At every doorway are seated groups of thinly clad^ 
lovely women and enamoured swains \ the ladies 
gracefully flirting their fans, and the gentlemen 
assiduously fanning the flirts, all seeming werj foldtre, 
blithe, and happy as they languidly imbibe their inno¬ 
cent refrescos. 

Leaving this halcyon scene, we return to Valencia, 
and repair to a cafe, where we indulge in a sym¬ 
posium of horchata, a delicious iced mixture, com¬ 
pounded of barley, chocos, sugar, milk, and snow. 

The casino,, or club, is a comfortable, well-arranged 
establishment, amply supplied with newspapers, though 
I seek in vain for the ‘Times,’ which, for a wonder, 
does not appear among the pile of papers littering 
the tables. After calling on some old friends of 
Julio’s, we once more shape our course to the Glorieta,, 
where we lounge about for some time, listening to 
the strains of an admirable military band. The 
promenade is thronged with ladies sitting on chairs 
and benches, a fascinating array of beauty, coruscating 
in the glare of many brilliant lamps. The whole 
spectacle has a decidedly Cremornish appearance, 
though the ladies who frequent the Glorieta are of a 


THE GLORIETA. 


47 


totally different class from the votaries of Terpsichore 
who resort to our suburban gardens. It is not con¬ 
sidered ^‘improper’’ for ladies in Spain to be walking 
in the streets at midnight, without bonnets, or stern 
“ parients at their sides ; nor does the absence of the 
latter subject them to any danger of insult or molest¬ 
ation ; for in Spain it is a recognized fact that night 
mibst be turned into day during the scorching heats 
of the long, long summer. Tearing ourselves from 
this pleasant spot, we wend our way back to the 
hotel, which we have no little difficulty in finding, 
so tortuous and intricate are the streets. At seven 
the next morning, Mr. Trevor again drives us down 
to the Grao, where we enjoy a refreshing sea-bath 



amid an immense host of bathers all wearing large 
straw hats, which give the sea the appearance of 














48 


BATHEKS. 


being covered with floating, erratic mushrooms. The 
ladies disport themselves like playful naiads on one 
side of the bay, while the straw-tiled, hirsute mermen 
dabble about on the other, smoking cigarettes even 
in the water. The intervening space is jealously 
guarded by armed sentries extending from the water’s 
edge up to the line of timber huts or fixed bathing 
machines, whither the bathers, wrapped in long wind¬ 
ing sheets, repair to dress themselves after their 
ablutions. Eeturning to Valencia, a large circular 
building in the distance is pointed out to me, “That,” 
says Mr. Trevor, “is the bull-ring!” and he pro¬ 
ceeds to give me a long description of the splendid 
bull-fight which had taken place four days previously. 
All the matadors had been disabled in the first day s 
“ sport,” and a fresh supply of these acrobatic butchers 
had to be telegraphed for from Alicante. I sigh' 
with regret, but am informed that at Madrid my 
curiosity is certain to be gratified. After breakfast¬ 
ing at Mr. Trevor’s, where I partake of the first 
really comfortable meal I have tasted since landing 
in Spain, we take leave of our kind and hospi¬ 
table entertainers, return to the Fojida, pay our bill 
(amounting to rather less than four dollars), and 
hiring a tartana, drive to the railway station, whence 
at 2 p. M. we start for Mojente. 



VALENCIA TO MOJENTE. 


49 


As a specimen of engineering the road is anything 
but well made, and the first-class carriage in which 
we are travelling is absurdly constructed for so hot a 
climate. The delight, however, of being again on 
the iron road, and propelled by the untiring locomo¬ 
tive, amply compensates for any trivial discomfort; 
so immense is the superiority of the rolling stock of 
the railway over the jolting stock of the high-road. 
Our party consists of two senoritas (one of them a 
lovely fascinating little creature), four talkative and 
amorous Hidalgos, Julio, and myself. 

The road runs through the charming plains of the 
Huerta^ flourishing in barley, citrons, oranges, pome¬ 
granates, wheat, pepper, rice, olives, aloes, and mul¬ 
berry-trees, growing in the wildest luxuriance, and 
resembling a richly planted garden. At four we 
reach Xativa, and arrive at Mojente at five. The 
distance being but fifty English miles, the pace is 
anything but terrific, though there are ten stoppages 
on the road. Again we are compelled to consign 
ourselves to the diligence, four of which vehicles 
are in waiting to convey the passengers to Almansa, 
to join the main line from Alicante to Madrid, the 
junction from Mojente being as yet incomplete.^ 

* Since tlie above was written the line bas been, completed, and 
passengers can now travel through from Valencia to Madrid by railway. 

E 


50 


MOJENTE TO ALMANSA. 


The Station is crowded with porters, passengers, 
railway officials, mule-drivers and zagals running 
madly about in dire confusion, and with incessant 
bawling and shouting : such a Babel of tongues I 
have never before heard, and certainly hope never to 
hear again. At length all the luggage being trans¬ 
ferred from the railway to the road, the last trunk is 
hauled on to the roof, and the brawny porter stream¬ 
ing with moisture has received our peseta for special 
services rendered; we stow ourselves in the herlina, 
in company with an unwashed, squalid individual, 
who has apparently renounced the use of water since 
the day he was plunged in the baptismal font. A 
ragged muchacho approaches the window, and offers 
us a tempting melon for the modest consideration 
of one real. We are athirst. We buy that melon, 
we eat that melon, and I never touch melon again 
to the day I leave Spain. Mem. for travellers* 
Beware of over-indulgence in Spanish melons I 

One by one the diligences set off amid the usual 
yelling and vigorous flagellation; and once more up 
rise thick clouds of dust even in greater abundance 
than on the Valencia road. It is positively un¬ 
bearable, and I do not the least exaggerate in as¬ 
serting that it is almost impossible to discern the heads 
of the wheelers in the murky haze which envelops the 


ALMANSA. 


51 


team: the dilly in which we are travelling happens to 
be the last of the four, and we consequently come in 
for the dust raised by eight-and-forty galloping mules, 
and sixteen rapidly revolving wheels. The country, as 
far as visible through the dust, is barren and dismal; 
a vast wilderness of yellow plain and arid mountain. 

Our companion turns out, notwithstanding his for¬ 
bidding exterior, to be a learned pundit, who, ascer¬ 
taining from Julio that I am almost entirely ignorant 
of the Spanish language, addresses me with the fami¬ 
liar phrase “ Loquerisne Latinum but pronounced 
with such an extraordinary accent that I can scarcely 
understand him. We contrive, however, to keep up 
a very halting dialogue in the dead language till I 
pose the worthy linguist by asking him to construe 
the puzzling sentence, Homo natura est Cretam 
visum naturam vitium nor does he discover that 
homo is here used in the feminine, till we arrive at 
Almansa, after a drive of about three hours. 

Near Almansa, a flourishing little town, containing 
about 7000 inhabitants, was fought the famous 
battle on the 25th April, 1707, on which memorable 
occasion the British^ supported (?) by the Spanish 
allies, were signally defeated by the army of the 
Bourbons, and lost 18,000 men, 120 standards, all 
their baggage and artillery. The English troops 


52 


CONCHA. 


were commanded by Lord Galway, in whose favour 
the British government had superseded the gallant 
Peterborough, and in so doing may be said to have 
decided the fate of Spain. An obelisk, erected in the 
centre of the battle-field, marks the spot whereon this 
important engagement was fought. 

We dine at the table d’hote of the posada, a large 
rambling building, situated near the railway, and at 
nine o’clock find our way to the station, where we 
await the arrival of the up-train to Madrid. 

On taking our seats in a first-class carriage, we are 
surprised to find, that by a singular coincidence we form 
precisely the same party who have travelled together 
on the Valencia line. The Spaniards renew their 
attentions to pretty little Concha, as she says she is 
called. I envy her admirers the privilege of talking 
to her, and beg Jnlio to intimate to the laughing 
beauty that I deplore my inability to repeat the 
pretty speeches rising to my lips, and should, if con¬ 
versant with Spanish, be only too proud and happy 
to do homage to her charms. This gushing compli¬ 
ment being faithfully interpreted, and having re¬ 
ceived a charming smile in reply, I endeavour to 
take the little witch’s portrait, though labouring 
under no small disadvantage from the oscillation of 
the carriage. Concha is nevertheless graciously 


NEW CASTILE. 


53 


pleased to approve of the wretched attempt, and in 
token of approbation affixes her autograph, which I 
here present to the reader. Fatigue soon begins to 



have its effect upon the hitherto merry party, and 
one by one, we gradually subside into slumber; but 
waking in the dead waste and middle of the night, 
I discern through the dim lamp-light—but a truce 
to tale-telling and ill-natured revelations ! 

Morning dawns, and our eyes are gladdened by the 
sight of a magnificent sunrise, as Phoebus in a blood- 
red ball of fire rises from the distant horizon. We are 
now scouring over the immense plains of Castile: the 
country is bald and level as the sea ; a vasty waste, 
unbroken by a single object to relieve its monotonous 
aspect. At 4*35 a. m. we pass Tembleque, and shortly 
afterwards reach Aranjuez, the summer resort of the 



54 


A SELL. 


court of Spain. The royal residence, rebuilt by 
Philip y. in the French style, is an unostentatious 
building, surrounded by trees and luxuriant verdure; 
a pleasant change after the wearying sameness of the 
plains. 

As we whirl on, a large town, standing isolated in 
the middle of the plain, appears in the distance. 
That town is Madrid, the glory and pride of the 
Spaniard, who, in many a terse phrase, exults in the 
existence of his beloved capital. “ No hay dm un 
Madrid /” is a favourite boast, and one in which few 
Englishmen would refuse to concur. We sweep 
round a vast semicircle, and run into the terminus 
at 7*30 A. M. On the platform Julio descries an old 
acquaintance, and they are soon engaged in animated 
conversation. Suddenly I observe my friend’s coun¬ 
tenance to fall, as he turns upon me with a look of 
the deepest commiseration. “ What is the matter, 
old fellow ? speak out!” “ The bull-fights are all 

over for the season,” replies Julio, eyeing me with 
pity, mingled, as I suspect, with a latent spirit of 
badinage. But, alas! for once he is not hoaxing me, 
and despite the feelings of inherent antipathy to the 
barbarous sport, which as a carefully nurtured and 
naturally tender-hearted youth, I have been taught 
to look upon with horror and aversion, I feel quite 


MADEID. 


55 


an ill-used individual, and bitterly echo Julio’s mali¬ 
cious suggestion, that I have been “regularly sold.” 
rrom this moment a dire presentiment haunts me 
that I am destined to leave Spain with my blood¬ 
thirsty craving unappeased, though Julio ridicules 
the idea of my going through Andalusia without 
“ coming in for a fight.” 

Bidding a tender farewell to dear little Concha, 
we hire a conveyance and drive to the Nuevo hotel, 
in the Calle de Atoclia^ kept by a Mad. de Sn Simon, 
who gives us the choice of all the rooms in the house ; 
we are in fact the only guests, it being the unfashion¬ 
able season, when everyone is ‘out of town,’and 
supposed to be residing at their country seats. 

Braving the intense dry heat, we spend the greater 
part of the day in walking and driving about the 
town, I confess not without a feeling of disappoint¬ 
ment. For the capital of a country like Spain, the 
buildings and shops are not of a character worthy the 
panegyrics so lavishly bestowed upon them by the 
nation; and the small traffic in the streets adds to 
the conviction that trade here is comparatively stag¬ 
nant. Everything bears the stamp of poverty in a 
greater or less degree, and picturesque, and even gay 
as is the general appearance of the town, the im¬ 
pression formed is unfavourable to the wealth, beauty 


56 


MADKID. 


and comfort of Madrid. The PuertOj del Sol^ in the 
heart of the city, is the nucleus of the principal streets; 
it is the rendezvous of gossipers, vagrants, and idlers, 
who from “morn to dewy eve ” throng the pavement, 
and besiege the passers-by (Englishmen especially 
when they get the chance) with their wearisome 
importunities. In the Ccdle de Alcala^ a noble 
thoroughfare, by far the finest in Madrid, are a few 
handsome edifices. The Royal Academy contains a 
poor collection of modern paintings, which contrast 
unfavourably with the few admirable works of. the 
old Spanish masters here exhibited. The Plaza de 
Toros^ or bull-ring, will accommodate over twelve 
thousand spectators : but the gates are now closed, 
and silence reigns around its lofty walls. 

I pretend not in this abstract and brief chronicle 
to give a list or description of all the places of inte¬ 
rest in Madrid. The able pen of Richard Ford, in 
his handbook of Spain (which I found an inestimable 
treasure in my wild gallop through some of the places 
he so accurately describes), has written so full an 
account of this capital, that it would be supererogation 
on my part to attempt even a hasty outline of the 
lions it contains. Suffice it to say, that after visiting 
the Calle Mayor^ the Calle de la Montera^ and the 
Calle de las Carretas, the Bond and Regent Streets 


MADEID, THE PEADO. 


57 


of Madrid, and other principal thoroughfares, we 
proceed to the Prado^ passing on our way the statue 
of Cervantes, the author of the immortal Don 
Quixote. 

The Prado, or public promenade, is a noble avenue, 
planted wdth trees and shrubs: the length of the 
salon, or principal walk, is nearly fifteen hundred 
feet by two hundred wide. During our visit it is 
crowded with gaily-dressed groups of both sexes, 
some strolling about, and others taking their ease on 
chairs ranged along the footway. A few handsome 
equipages, drawn by showy-looking horses, are dash¬ 
ing about, and the whole coup d’oeil greatly reminds 
me of the drive in Hyde Park on a summer after¬ 
noon. Ford says “the Prado, a truly Spanish thing 
and scene, is unique; and as there is nothing like it 
in Europe, and, oh, wonder! as there are no London 
cockneys on it, it fascinates all who pass the 
Pyrenees. ^ ^ ^ Fire and water, Candela, 

Fuego I y quien quiere agua 1 resound on every side: 
Murillo-like urchins run about with lighted rope- 
ends for smokers, e., for ninety-nine out of one 
hundred males ; while Aguadores follow the fire, like 
engines, with fresh water, for your pimiento and 
bacon-eating Spaniard is as adust as his soil and 
thirsty as Vesuvius.” 


58 MADEID, THE THEATKE. 

In the evening we repair to the Jovellanos theatre: 
we had booked ourselves stalls in the morning, and 
were fortunate in having been able to procure them, 
though at a high premium, from a fellow hanging 
about the door of the theatre. This system of buying 
up the tickets and reselling them at a considerable 
profit appears even more prevalent in Madrid than 
at the operatic and extraordinary performances in 
London ; where, besides the regular box office at the 
theatres themselves, there springs up a crop of 
speculative ticket-shops whereat the would-be sight¬ 
seer is heavily mulct if determined to witness the 
desired spectacle. 

The theatre is a fine, handsome building, with 
many tiers of boxes: the space usually allotted to the 
pit is entirely occupied by commodious lunetas, or 
stalls. The house is crammed to overflowing with 
dark-eyed beauties and charming senoritas; boxes 
and galleries present a whirlwind of fans in a per¬ 
petual tremor of graceful agitation. The perform¬ 
ances consist of Spanish operettas, or zarzuelas^ 
and Italian selections, in which Madame Ugalde 
sings divinely to a highly demonstrative audience, 
who, in a perfect furore^ treat her to a most 
flattering ovation at the end of every act. 

When the drop finally falls, we leave the theatre. 


MADEID, THE PALACE. 


59 


and enter a spacious cafe, where we indulge in 
copious libations of horchata. Under the potent 
influence of this ardent and intoxicating beverage, 
several rascally-looking fellows are quarrelling, 
brandishing their long knives in a very excited 
manner, and vowing by all the saints in the Calendar 
that they will stab some one this night. Leaving 
these worthies to settle and adjust their little differ¬ 
ences between themselves, we return to the hotel, 
and sleep the sleep of the weary. 

On the following morning we call on Mr. O’Shea, 
the banker, to cash some circular notes; and we 
then visit the royal palace. It is a magnificent build¬ 
ing, 470 feet square, and 100 feet high; the front 
or east elevation is very handsome and imposing, al¬ 
though disfigured by tall, unsightly chimney-pots. In 
the centre of the garden fronting the palace, stands a 
noble equestrian statue of Philip IV., surrounded by 
others of considerably less merit which formerly 
adorned the cornice of the palace. From the patio^ 
or large square courtyard to the south of the building, 
we have a fine view of the gardens, the valley of the 
Mauzanares thickly planted with young trees and 
the distant range of the Guadaramma. The interior 
of the palace is very striking, rich in painted ceilings, 
marble floors, crystal chandeliers, gorgeous tapestry. 


60 


MADKID, THE MUSEO. 


crimson velvet, and gold decorations. The reception 
throne-room is a magnificent saloon, and the royal 
chapel, built in the Corinthian style, abounds in rich 
marbles, frescoes, and gilt ornaments. 

Quitting this regal mansion, we hire a brougham 
and drive to the Museo^ situated near the Prado. The 
exterior appearance of this edifice is by no means 
prepossessing, but the interior offers as delicious a 
banquet of art as the most fastidious epicure could 
possibly desire, for in this unrivalled collection are 
some of the finest paintings in Europe. Here the 
old masters of the Spanish, Italian, German, 
Flemish, Dutch, and French schools flourish in all 
their glory. Here may be seen the exquisite Virgins 
and Madonnas of Murillo; the marvellous portraits of 
the great Velasquez; the harsh but masterly works 
of Eibera; the splendid paintings of Raphael, 
Titian, Tintoretto, Paul Veronese, Guercino, Sal¬ 
vator Rosa, Correggio, Snyders, Albert Durer, 
Holbein, and Quintin Matsys; the life-like, glowing 
figures of Rubens; the rich harmonious beauties of 
Vandyke; the sunny skies of Claude; the glories of 
Poussin: the stirring works of Wouvermans ; the 
delicious bits of Teniers; the elaborate battle-pieces 
of Snayers, and countless other gems by the greatest 
painters the world has ever produced. For several 


A SPANISH CABBY. 


61 


hours we wander through the galleries, feasting our 
eyes on the mighty display spread out before us, till 
corapelled to tear ourselves from this hallowed atmo¬ 
sphere of art, and turn to the commonplace reality 
of a Spanish hotel dinner. 

Onward is again the word ; we must leave this 
night for Alicante* A brougham conveys us to the 
railwajy terminus, where we have a lively argument 
with the driver regarding his proper fare. The 
scamp endeavours to make it appear that he has 
acted from purely philanthropic motives in bringing 
us at all, and only as a great personal favour has he 
degraded his vehicle by loading it with trunks. In 
consideration of the extreme violence done to his 
feelings thereby, he claims pecuniary compensation 
adequate to the moral outrage he has so generously 
inflicted upon himself. Unfortunately, however, for 
the magnanimous Jehu, he has to deal with at least 
one Londoner, who, from a long sojourn in that 
world of cabbies, has become case-hardened to all 
urgent appeals or menacing insolence from the frater¬ 
nity of the whip. Though we cannot order the 
fellow to drive to the nearest police-station, force him 
to produce his book, compel him to give us his 
number, nor appeal to a friendly ‘bobby,’ we manage 
to get off without paying more than about double the 


62 


THE EAIL. 


“ bare fare,” disregarding the look of impotent fury 
the fellow casts upon us as we enter the station. 

The ticket'office consists but of one large white¬ 
washed room containing a buffet, a cigar stall, and 
the despacho para billetes, a small pigeon-hole to 
which all have to fight their way to procure their 
tickets. Of course I leave all this to Julio, and at 
8 p.m. we find ourselves-once more on the rail, bound 
for Alicante. This time our party consists of two 
Spanish civil engineers {very civil they afterwards 
prove); a stout old gentleman; his better half, a 
shrewish old dame, with 'the “hi of an awk their 
niece, a beautiful creature with a fair complexion and 
rich golden hair ; and their servant, a strapping 
handsome lass, to whom the engineers are remark¬ 
ably, and I think officiously attentive, for the poor^ 
wench gets but little sleep the whole night. Cigars 
— 0 tempora I 0 mores I —are speedily produced, for 
Spanish ladies do not at all object to smoking, and 
my own private “ cutty ” being soon in full operation, 
the consumption of tobacco and dense fumes of 
smoke become really terrific. To my English notions, 
the thing at first seems scandalous, but the novelty is 
decidedly agreeable, and I feel little disposed to 
question its propriety. Finding that one of the 
engineers speaks French, I get into conversation with 


ALBACETE. 


63 


him, and as night advances, persuade him to take 
me on to the locomotive, though he makes it a sine 
qua non that I shall lend him my cape for the ride. 

The night is dark as Erebus, the country flat and 
bare as the desert. With a deafening scream oft’ we 
start. The engine-driver, a Spaniard, keeps inciting 
the wretched stoker to fresh exertions every moment, 
shoving in coke in the most reckless manner, till the 
steam fairly roars out of the safety-valve, when, of 
course, open flies the furnace-door and out rush the 
flames. Then the infatuated creature is continually 
turning on the gauge-cocks to make sure of the boiler 
supply, so that what with one thing and another, I 
am roasted in the legs, drenched in the body, and 
frozen in the head from the rush of the bleak night 
air. After a run of about twenty miles, heartily sick 
of this mode of travelling, which aflbrds but little 
scope to my inquisitive turn of mind, I return to the 
carriage, where Julio is affecting to be soundly 
asleep. The sly dog! I strongly suspect that he 
has been otherwise engaged during my absence, and 
the empressement with which he takes leave of the 
ladies in the morning, goes far to confirm my sus¬ 
picions. At about 4 A. M. we stop at Albacete, a 
thriving town, called the Sheffield of Spain, where 
are manufactured the punales and cuchillos, long- 


64 


ALBACETE, 


pointed knives, so often used for murderous purposes 
by this excitable, hot-blooded race. Here the engi¬ 
neers leave us, and we continue our journey with the 
old couple and the young females. The former are 
apparently buried in profound repose, though I cannot 
but persuade myself that the stern old lady is sleeping 
with one eye open, which is watching me with spectral 
glare. That basilisk optic haunts me in my broken 
slumbers like a hideous nightmare. As the poor bird, 
transfixed with horror, gazes entranced at the advancing 
form of the deadly serpent, so do I encounter with 
shuddering awe the eye of that fearful old woman. 
The lovely senora sees it not, nor does the handsome 
Abigail, and I am prepared to take a solemn affidavit 
that my gallant comrade does not observe it : I alone 
am under its spell, and vainly endeavouring to shake 
off its baneful influence by resolutely gazing at the : 
rising sun, the fiery orb seems to dilate and resolves j 
itself into a,human eye. Heaven and earth, it is; 
too much ! I collapse into my seat and stare fixedly ' 
at nothing, till on the arrival of the train at a. station 
near Noveldar, a movement is made by our fellow-^ 
travellers, and to my inexpressible relief they quit 
the carriage after a ceremonious and courteous adios. 
The ban is removed; I feel a mighty weight lifted 
from my chest, and in joyful mood join with Julio 





AEKIVAL AT ALICANTE. 


65 


in a jovial chorus, before the termination of which 
the train is rapidly approaching its destination. 

We are now surrounded by lofty, rugged moun¬ 
tains, yellow and bare, without the slightest sign of 
vegetation. The outline of the hills is picturesque : 
the hard profile of the craggy rocks and deserts of 
stone, glittering in the already burning rays of the 
morning sun, form a truly Arabian picture, and one 
would scarcely feel surprised to see a train of camels 
issuing from any of the defiles we are rapidly passing. 

Suddenly Julio pokes his head out of the window 
and exclaims in hearty accents, “ There is Alicante !” 
I look forth and in the distance descry a lofty rock 
towering above the horizon. That rock is Alicante: 
in a few minutes we run into the station and are at 
our journey’s end. 


F 


66 



CHAPTER IV. 

4 \ 

I REACH THE FIRST STAGE OF MY JOURNEY, PAUSI | 
AND START AFRESH. f 

The first stage of my scamper is reached, and I resoh j 
to rest awhile from the fatigues of travelling befor^ 
again girding my loins for a fresh start. But my^ 
determination is not altogether voluntary: having 
done so much, seen so much, suffered so.much, and 
enjoyed so much, it is now absolutely necessary I‘ 
should halt for a few days to recruit my wearied^ 
frame, and defer my departure from Alicante till the* 
ensuing Saturday. Nor had I cause to regret my 



















I 






ALICANTE. 


67 


stay, for the few happy days spent here with my hos¬ 
pitable friends, and the kindness received from every 
one I met, will ever prove sources of unmixed plea¬ 
sure, and I shall ever look back to Alicante with 
feelings of the liveliest satisfaction. For six whole 
nights we had been on the road without change of 
raiment: a cheerful room in the house of my friend 
Don Pedro in the Plaza Ramiro, commanding a 
delightful view of the sea, proved a pleasant change 
after the desagrements endured in travelling so rapidly. 

Alicante, the capital of a province of the same 
name in the kingdom of Valencia, is situated at the 
foot of a lofty castle-crowned rock. With its white¬ 
washed houses and projecting mole, tolerably well 
filled with shipping, it presents a fine picturesque 
appearance from the sea. The population amounts 
to about nineteen thousand souls. Trade here was 
formerly much greater than at present, as evidenced 
by the noticeable fact that it is no longer the resi¬ 
dence of the English merchants who but a few years 
since made it their home. The town contains a 
museo, a pretty little theatre, a handsome town hall, 
an excellent casino, and respectable shops. 

On the first evening after our arrival we have an 
opportunity of seeing the rural life of Alicante at the 
country residence, of Senor Porvallo, to which we are 


68 


ALICANTE. 


driven in a dreadful tartana^ by a road winding 
through desolate and barren hills, from which the 
castle has an imposing appearance. At the Cruz de 
Piedra, on the summit of the steep, a beautiful view 
surprises the spectator. Beneath lies the Huerta^ 
wherej as Ford says, “ the succession of crops never 
ceases. There is no winter, one continual summer 
reigns in this paradise of Ceres and Pomona; but the 
immediate environs are arid and unproductive; and 
the swampy coast towards Carthagena breeds plagues 
of flies, fevers, and dysenteries, which the immoderate 
use of the Sandia^ or water-melon, encourages.” We 
are hospitably entertained by Senor Porvallo at his 
charming villa on the brow of the hill. “ Buttons,” 
who waits upon us at table, 
is a curiosity; a handy 
little nigger, perfect in all 
points, strong as a pony, 
black as ebony, quick as 
lightning, and active as a 
monkey. It is amusing 
to observe the stolid man¬ 
ner in which the little 
fellow submits to a public 
inspection, to having his 
adamantine nut rapped, and his woolly hair pulled 



THE BULL-Rma. 


69 


by the malicious writer. I am far too tired, how¬ 
ever, to do anything like justice to the ample meal 
spread out before us, nor even join in a weed with the 
whole party seated in the moonlit porch, and right 
glad when Don Pedro gives the word to return home¬ 
wards, I drag my weary limbs back to Alicante, 
supported by the sturdy arm of Bob Moriarty, a 
jovial son of Erin who forms one of our party. Soon 
buried in profound repose I hear not the dulcet strains 
of a serenade, got up in honour of Julio’s arrival by 
Sehor Pepet, a one-eyed old music-master who had 
afforded me much amusement in the morning by his 
few choice English sentences, and his wonderful per¬ 
formance on the guitar. 

The three following days were occupied in paying 
visits, walking on the mole and paseo^ bathing on the 
tideless shore, sketching, boating, and enjoying the 
dolce far niente to my heart’s content. I also went 
over the hull-ring, where Julio and Moriarty gave me 
a full, true, and particular account of a bull-fight. By 
that door the infuriated animal rushes in, there sit 
the Picadores on their devoted steeds, there stand the 
Chulos^ and there the Banderilleros ready to plant 
their barbed darts into the neck of the unhappy bull, 
and by other means, torture and worry the poor brute, 
till his sufferings are terminated by the merciful coup 


70 


ELCHE. 


de grace of the Matador. In yonder shady boxes the 
aristocracy recline at their ease, while on the opposite 
side, exposed to the glare of the sun, sit the more 
democratic portion of the spectators. The arena is 
surrounded by the harrera^ a wooden barrier some four 
feet high, behind which is the stone parapet forming 
the front of the first tier of seats ; the narrow circular 
avenue between affording a safe retreat for the chulos 
when pursued by the bull. The numerous splashes 
of gore sprinkling the harrera give unmistakeable 
evidence of the sanguinary nature of the contest 
which has taken place a few days previously. Alas! 
that I should have been too late to witness it! 

On the 13th, we organize a pic-nic to Elche, a 
town about twelve miles distant, and having char¬ 
tered a rickety old omnibus, start at an early hour; 
our party consisting of Don Pedro, Julio, Moriarty 
and myself. The road is execrable, the scenery 
cruelly barren, dry, dusty, and desolate; but on 
nearing Elche, I am truly amazed at the number of 
gigantic palm-trees growing in the wildest luxuriance. 

Arrived at the town, we put up our vehicle at a 
posada^ and repairing to the church of Santa Maria., 
ascend the belfry, from which elevated position we 
obtain a splendid view of the surrounding scenery. 
Below lies the town with its flat-roofed Moorish 


THE PALM-FOREST—ELCHE. 


71 


houses, and girdling it for a considerable distance is 
the enormous forest of palms, stretching away in 
dense groves of vast extent. Ford says, There is 
only one Elche in Europe: it is a city of palms; the 
Bedouin alone is wanting, for the climate is that of 
the East.” The trees are raised from dates, which at 
this season of the year hang in large green clusters 
from the tops of the trunks. 

Descending from the tower we plunge into the 
forest, and there and then pic-nic in the shade of 
the lofty trees, under which it is delightfully cool and 
pleasant. Wandering dreamily through the wood, 
among the giant, deep-rimmed trunks and arching 
leaves of these mighty palms, it requires no very 
great stretch of the imagination to fancy myself in 
the leafy groves of Ceylon, or the forests of far-off 
Barbary. 

Towards evening we commence our return journey 
to Alicante, provided with a bottle pr two of claret 
wherewith to moisten our parched lips on this most 
dusty road; but the diflSculty of drinking is consi¬ 
derably enhanced by the terrific jolting of the ’bus, 
and it is fine to see Moriarty spill half a tumbler 
over his snowy o-no-we-never-mention-ems; it is finer 
to see Julio gingerly but vainly cover bis knees with 
his pocket-handkerchief before taking his draught; but 


72 


OMNIBUS ADVENTUEES. 


finest of all is to see Don Pedro commence drinking; 
to see us all get a spasmodic fit of laughing; to see the 
worthy Don also seized in the midst of his “swig;” 
to see the ruddy liquor gush in volumes from his nose, 
mouth, and eyes, as half choked with convulsions of 
laughter, he puts his head out of the window, purple 
in the face and gasping for breath. For an hour 
afterwards we suffer severely from aching sides, and 
are nearly seized with another spasm when the Don 
suddenly plunges headforemost out of the front window 
of the omnibus. The cause of this strange acrobatic 
evolution is soon apparent. The driver has, in the 
true spirit of Spanish laziness, laid himself supine on 
the roof, where he is warbling a plaintive ditty in 
tones unlike any I have ever heard save from the 
lips of dyspeptic Chinese beggarmen in London, and 
the reins being left in charge of a diminutive urchin, 
Don Pedro has seized the opportunity for having a 
drive. But now, alack ! our spirits are damped by 
the dismal thoughts of approaching separation which 
begin to crowd upon us; for in a few short hours 
Julio is to start for Denia, I for Malaga. To dispel 
these melancholy thoughts, we get up a chorus, 
straining our lungs to the utmost pitch till the road 
echoes to the hackneyed airs of “ Old Dog Tray,” 
“ Hoop de dooden doo,” “ Sally come up,” “ Wait for 


HAEMONY AND DISCORD 


73 


the wagon,” “ Fare thee well, my own Mary Anne,” 
and other select, appropriate melodies. Don Pedro 
soon vacates the box seat, and considering it now my 
turn to drive, I scramble through the window and 
assume the ribbons, squaring my elbows and prepar¬ 
ing to do things in proper style; but the driver dislikes 
my abnormal appearance, descends from the roof, 
takes his seat alongside, and a running fight forthwith 
commences for possession of the reins. Told not to 
hit the near wheeler nor jerk the horses’ heads, 
as of course I immediately take care to do so, our 
pace is somewhat improved, though we have but 
sorry cattle in the traces, and circumstances compel 
me to shove my elbow into the driver’s face every 
moment, to prevent him from seizing the reins. I 
am soon immensely disgusted with the task so rashly 
undertaken, for it is tiresome work, the horses being 
merely guided by rude halters loosely fixed to their 
heads. It is quite dark by the time we reach Ali¬ 
cante, and no little care is necessary in steering the 
omnibus through the narrow, ill-lighted streets; but 
when we emerge on the Plaza Ramiro^ I insert my 
elbow for the last time into the dexter eye of the driver, 
put on a tremendous spurt, thong the horses into a 
gallop, and we dash up in fine style, to the horror 
of my antagonist, who, in an ecstasy of terror, seizes 



74 FAEEWELL TO ALICANTE. 

my arm with one hand, the reins with the other, and 
very nearly capsizes the ’bus as we pull up at the door. 


Now begins the unpleasant operation of packing 
our portmanteaus; for Julio will shortly sail to the 
East and my steamer is about to start for the West. 
Accompanied by my three comrades, I adjourn to the 
mole, whence we row off to the Alicante screw*- 
steamer, lying in the roadstead. Here I bid farewell 
to my kind host Don Pedro, that hroth of a boy 
Moriarty, and Julio my faithful chum, my alter ego 
and cheery fellow-traveller. Keenly do I feel this 
separation, for we are like Damon and Pythias, fast 









PLAZA RAMIRO _ ALICANTE 











CAETHAGENA. 


75 


friends, almost brothers: on his invaluable assistance 
I have entirely relied during our journey hither; and 
now, left to my own resources, with no more know¬ 
ledge of Spanish than the few sentences picked 
up on my tour, I feel exceedingly helpless and look 
forward to frightful difficulties in continuing my 
wanderings alone. 

About midnight we steam out of the roads:. I 
can scarce realize being alone, and mournfully give a 
last fond lingering gaze at the castle-topped hill as it 
fades in the blue distance. Fortunately the night 
is fine and the sea calm, so burying my cares 
in oblivion, I turn into my berth and fall into a 
dreamless slumber, awakening to find that the steamer 
has come to anchor and is snugly lying in the land¬ 
locked harbour of Carthagena. Among the passen¬ 
gers breakfasting on deck I recognize Ronconi, the 
prince of barytones, who has but recently been delight¬ 
ing London audiences at Covent Garden, and who 
seems “ a fellow of infinite jest,” to judge from the 
amusement he creates among his fellow-travellers. 

Carthagena, the Carthago Nova of the Romans, 
beneath whose sway it was a flourishing city, is now 
but the wreck of its former self: ruin and decay are 
everywhere apparent. It is still the great naval 
arsenal of Spain, and contains fortifications, hospitals. 


76 


CAETHAGENA. 


foundries, and dockyards; but little life is stirring 
within its almost deserted walls. The harbour, 
which is purely natural, affords a large anchorage for 
ships of war, which sheltered by the lofty hdls sur¬ 
rounding the port, can ride securely, protected from 
thd violence of the winds and waves. Hailing a 
boat, I go ashore and stroll about the town, exploring 
its .narrow and intricate streets till about noon, when 
I return to ^ the quay and row off again to the 
steamer. AV^e soon get under way, and, running 
out of the harbour, pass the islet La Escombrera^ 
situated near the entrance, and are fairly en route for 
Malaga. The sea as heretofore is calm as a mill¬ 
pond, and the hours glide rapidly by as the gallant 
Alicante steadily ploughs her way through the deep 
blue waters beneath a cloudless sky 

‘ It was so calm that scarce the feathery weed, 

Sown hy some eagle on the topmost stone, 

Swayed in the air.’ 

In the course of the afternoon we pass Cape de Gata — 
a spoke or two of the wheel to starboard and we are 
running due west to ^lala^a, as the sun dips beneath 
the hills in a flood of golden light. 

Towards nightfall I begin to feel very unwell; a 
curious, painful sensation comes over me, gradually 
increasing till it resolves itself into an excruciating 


MISADVEKTUKES ON THE MEDITE KEANE AN. 77 


ear-ache. Vainly I try to court the drowsy god, 
sleep is out of the question: bitterly cold as is the 
night, I cannot remain in my berth, but wrapping 
myself in my cape, madly rush on deck and tramp 
about the whole night in a state of intense agony. 

Mr. Phillips, an American whose acquaintance I 
have made in the morning, kindly suggests various 
remedies; all however of no avail, though, as a last 
resource, I procure the assistance of an obliging 
stoker who blows tobacco smoke down my ear, but 
without the slightest effect in alleviating my sufferings. 



Morning dawn finds me foaming about the deck 


78 MYSTEEIES OF THE SANIDAD. 

in frantic despair. The hours drag slowly along; 
four, five, six, seven o’clock strike, at last Malaga ap¬ 
pears in the distance. O how I long to set foot on 
shore and fly to a doctor for relief! At 8 a.m. we 
cast anchor in the harbour, and I get my trunk ready 
to go ashore, little suspecting the severe trial which 
awaits me; but my torments on board the steamer 
are not yet over. Up row a couple of galleys in a 
very leisurely manner, the boatmen resting on their 
oars at every stroke for a fazily prolonged period. 
One of the boats contains a party of military officers, 
come to receive the Captain-General Concha, who is 
on board the steamer; the other conveys the chief 
of the sanidad, a light swell in an outrageously 
shaped little castor, an immaculate frill, ,'and lemon- 
coloured gloves. A long parley ensues between this_ 
worthy and our skipper, who seem to disagree about 
the contents of a large document they are scanning 
between them. What can be the matter? I am 
dying to go ashore; why this delay ? The skipper 
gesticulates, the sanidad official ditto; and, finally, 
tossing the paper indignantly away with a sort of I- 
cannot-find-it-’tis-not-in-the-bond expression, he utters 
a few words of dreadful import, puts one of his 
myrmidons on board, and pulls for the shore ; all 
the boats follow, and we are left alone in our glory. 




IN QUAEANTINE. 


Completely mystified, I gaze around me with a stu¬ 
pefied air; when, oh, horror ! up goes the yellow flag! 

Too well I know the meaning of that hateful banner 
flaunting its jaundiced pennons to the breeze; it pro¬ 
claims the appalling fact that we are in quarantine ! 
And what is the reason of this flagrant, this iniqui¬ 
tous outrage ? Because, forsooth, we have touched 
at Carthagena where the cholera has broken out; 
but though we have not taken on board a single pas¬ 
senger at that port, and are provided with a clean bill 
of health from Alicante, we are condemned to flve 
days purgatory in this bug-infested steamer, cooped 
up in the harbour of Malaga. Estoy aburrido; I 
curse this despotic regulation—one of the absurd 
cosas de Espana —and above all I anathematize the 
venomous sanidad official and his kids. My ear 
continues so very painful that delirium seems to be 
approaching. Suicidal thoughts suggest themselves 
to my now distempered imagination; I hesitate be¬ 
tween jumping overboard, severing my jugular, or in¬ 
continently poisoning myself with garlic;^ Phillips 
however interferes, and though, as a personal favour, 
I reluctantly consent to oblige him by living a little 
longer, my mind is full of scorpions and my mouth 
with words that would be howled out in the desert air. 

(reneral Concha, not relishing the idea of being 


80 


DESPAIR. 


kept in durance vile for five days, causes a telegram 
to be despatched to the authorities at Madrid, re¬ 
questing permission for us to land. Blessed tele¬ 
graph! quickly transmit thy momentous question 
and as quickly flash back a cheering reply 1 

The day wears on, but no answer comes. My 
philosophic fellow-passengers take things with most 
aggravating coolness, eating, drinking, and making 
merry while I lie groaning with pain in the cabin. 
Towards evening I stagger on deck and eagerly 
watch every boat coming in our direction. At 
length, as the shadows of twilight begin to fall, a boat 
containing a man in a cocked hat is seeii to leave the 
shore; it approaches the steamer, the cocked hat 
leaps aboard, utters a brief sentence, and we are free! 
In a transport of delight I rush up to Phillips and 
wildly embrace him, and could almost kiss the hem 
of noble Concha’s surtout coat. Great Concha 1 may 
the expedition thou art about to take part in against 
the Moors be crowned with every success and add 
fresh laurels to thine honoured brow 1 

At 8 p. M. we are permitted to land; and my 
trunk having been overhauled by a swarthy camhi- 
new, I confide it to the care of a porter who forthwith 
precedes me to the Fonda Victoria on the Alameda. 
Without loss of time I seek Mr. Longshore, the 


MALAGA. 


81 


English medico to whom Phillips has recommended 
me, and find him a withered little specimen of huma¬ 
nity, or rather inhumanity^ who seems in no way to 
sympathize with my sufferings, but drily prescribes 
linseed poultices and anodyne oil. Returning to the 
hotel,I make friends with an immensely long dead- 
and-alive waiter who speaks a little English: he pre¬ 
pares the required cataplasm, and having bound it 
round my aching head, leaves me to repose. After 
tossing about for some time, I am beginning to doze, 

I when bang ! goes a big drum, right under my window. 
I start up and rush to the balcony. It is a military 
serenade in honour of the General Concha, who is 
I staying at the opposite hotel. Concha! I owe thee 
j much, and will not qomplain. 







82 





MALAGESE GOSSIPS. 


CHAPTER y. 

MALAGA, GRANADA, AND THE ALHAMBRA. 

Malaga possesses but few attractions for the tourist 
beyond the novelty inseparable from its busy traffic 
in wines and raisins. The cathedral is a quaintly 
designed edifice, built in extraordinary taste: the 
faqade is somewhat imposing, but the interior disap¬ 
points. The view from the summit of the tower is very 
fine, it commands a vast extent of prospect, includ- 






MALAGA. 


83 


ing the town, the mountains, the old Moorish castle, 
built in 1279 , and the capacious harbour. The 
Alameda^ a fine, broad promenade, planted with trees, 
adorned with flowery parterres, and filled with foun¬ 
tains and statuary, presents a curious and animated 
spectacle towards evening when it is crowded with pic¬ 
turesquely attired groups, senoras, hidalgos, loungers, 
and equestrians. The climate of Malaga is delight¬ 
ful ; invalids flock hither seeking shelter from the 
keener air of the lofty mountains which girdle the 
town, and effectually protect it from the northerly 
gales, thus rendering it a charming winter residence. 

The Guadalmedina, spanned by a light wrought- 
iron bridge, on which I read the name “Fairbairn, 
Manchester,’’ flows through the outskirts of the town, 
but the bed, being entirely dried up during the hot 
season, is used as a road and as a depository for 
carts, mules, and rubbish which may be shot here 
to any amount with impunity. On making inquiries 
about the bull-fights, I found that a grand field-day 
was to take place on the 28th; and would willingly 
have waited for the important event, had not my 
leave of absence been limited to the end of the 
month. 

For three days I was detained at Malaga, harassed 
by mosquitoes, which here assailed me for the first 


84 


MALAGA. 


time, and tortured by the ear-ache, which did not 
abate sufficiently to allow me to pursue my journey. 
In the evenings I lounged about the Alameda^ 
amusing myself by sketching gossiping groups seated 
on the stone benches, and by exploring the streets and 
plazas. Passing a fancy shop in which I observed 
some of the terra-cotta figures, for the manufacture of 
which Malaga is celebrated, I invested in a gaudy 
peasant and a fiery contrabandista; and also procured 
a swell soTnibvcvoy literally the nobbiest of hats, after 
an innocent pantomimic flirtation with a captivating 
little shopwoman. 



On the 18th, the anniversary of the siege of the 


RAIN. 


85 


town by Ferdinand, who after a deadly struggle 
wrested it from the Moors in 1487, I determine on 
leaving for Granada, as my tympanum begins to be 
less troublesome, and at 5 p. M. take my seat in 
the diligence. It is a Brobdignagian affair, containing 
herlina, interior^ rotonda, and coupe^ hoisted on lateral 
and transverse springs of great thickness, and wheels 
of enormous strength; and well that they are so; 
for heavy indeed are the shocks they have to endure, 
and the work to perform in supporting the ponderous 
machine as it jolts over the mountainous road to 
Granada. 

In the* course of the afternoon a smart shower of 
about half an hour’s duration had fallen, deluging the 
streets with water, which collected on the house-tops 
and poured on the heads of the passers-by from long 
spouts projecting 'far beyond the parapet. The rain 
has ceased, and the sun is shining brightly as we start 
from the Alameda, amid the yells of the driver and 
shrieks of the zagal The road lies up the bed of 
the Guadalmedina, hut after ascending a short dis¬ 
tance, we are met by a body of water forcing its way 
through the sandy channel and momentarily acquiring 
fresh impetus from the down-pour of the surrounding 
hills. Turning to the right about, we flee before the 
advancing torrent, but the mules are fetlock deep in 


86 


MOUNTAIN EIDE. 


water before they reach the bank, and we are com¬ 
pelled to return through the town and make a long 
detour to the eastward before regaining the main 
road. 

The view from the mountains, the ascent of which 
we are now slowly commencing, is magnificent. The 
road is lined with forests of prickly pears, rows of 
lofty aloes, and thick clusters of cactuses. For hours 
Malaga remains in sight as we continue to ascend, 
slowly winding our way among the mountains^ till 
the sun dips beneath the hills and the distant town 
becomes shrouded in gloom, to be again lighted by 
thousands of twinkling lamps, while the rising moon 
illumines the mountain-tops with rays of silvery bright¬ 
ness. It is a glorious night, such as is rarely seen in 
dear, foggy, old England, but withal so bitterly cold 
that following the example of my companion, a ghostly- 
looking priest, I am fain to coil myself in my toga and 
soon fall into a heavy slumber. 

Awakened some hours afterwards by the unceasing 
shouts of the drivers and bells of the mules, I find we 
are traversing a rich tract of country, fringed with 
patches of luxuriant verdure glistening in the morning 
sun. The padre emerges from his cloak, mutters his 
orisons, and applies his reinvigorated energies to the 
consumption of cigarettes, which he smokes almost 


BENSAKEN. 


87 


unceasingly till the end of the journey. The aroma 
is overpowering, and the strong fumes of Bristol 
bird’s-eye which I set up in opposition signally fail to 
conquer the musty odour of the vile rubbish of which 
these cigarillos are composed. But Granada soon 
looms in the distance, and at seven we drive into the 
town, the dilly setting us down at the Fonda Vic¬ 
toria where I fix my abode for the day. 

At the porch I am greeted by the great Bensaken, 
Emmanuel Bensaken, guide and interpreter, a well- 
known character and invaluable cicerone. Ben is a 
great creature, a rara avis, a living type of inde¬ 
fatigability, patience, and long-suffering. A clever 
author represents his personal appearance as varying 
between that of a nobleman and a gamekeeper, and it 
would be hard to find a more succinct description of 
the noble old fellow. His hoary locks are surmounted 
by the imperishable white hat which has become a 
subject of history, and which I venture to suggest 
should be placed on his coffin when its faithful owner 
is borne to his final resting-place. But far off be the 
day when the tourist shall seek in vain for Bensaken, 
when his venerable form shall be missing in the streets 
of Granada, when the walls of the Alhambra shall see 
his face no more ! Bight glad am I to meet the 
worthy old buck and enlist his services, for a heavy 


88 


GEANADA. 


day’s work lies before me, and Ben is the man to 
arrange it properly. 

The proprietor of the hotel having assigned me a 
room, proceeds with great pride and conscious im¬ 
portance to show me the really very handsome suite 
of apartments lately occupied by the Prince of Wales^ 
during his stay at Granada. Boniface is so immensely 
proud of having been honoured by such an illustrious 
guest that he has adorned the walls of his establishment 
with coloured prints of the Royal Family from the 
Illustrated London News, in memory of the great 
event. 

At breakfast I am interrupted in the calm discus¬ 
sion of a cup of coffee, and a hifteh a rAnglaise, by 
the sudden irruption of a waiter, who in broken Eng¬ 
lish proclaims that a murder has been committed 
under the windows. Starting up, I exclaim, “ What, 
now ?” “ But now, sehor!” “ It is the very error of 

the moon that comes more near the earth than she 
w^as wont, and makes'men mad/’ occurs to me as the 
response. But it is 7iot an error; there is literally 
no mistake about it; for rushing to the balcony, I see 
beneath, lying in articulo mortis^ the body of a fine 
young fellow whose life-blood is rapidly ebbing in gory 
torrents from a hideous gash in the left breast. It is 
a sickening sight; the assassin is being dragged away, 


ASSASSINATION. 


89 


bound, by a couple of carahineros, A large crowd soon 
collects, but the body, weltering in a pool of gore, lies 



for a considerable time without any one daring to touch 
it. The man is now stone dead, his glassy eye-balls 
glaring upwards at the sky, while the features are 
horribly distorted. The Alcalde at length makes his. 
appearance, and by his orders the corpse is placed on 
a ladder, and borne away above the heads of the crowd. 








90 


COSAS DE ESPaSa. 


who seem to regard the tragedy as quite an ordinary 
occurrence. It appears that the two men had 
quarrelled in an adjacent posada, and rushing out to 
fight, the deceased was stabbed to the heart by his 
more adroit opponent before he could draw his knife. 
Another of the corns de Espam. Ben informs me 
that affairs of this kind frequently happen, and that 
scarcely a day passes without some bloody fray taking 
place, for the Spaniard is as ready with his accursed 
ncLvajcL as the Englishman with his fist. 

. Bensaken begins the day’s campaign by piloting 
me towards the Alhambra, which “ to the traveller 
imbued with a feeling for the poetical and historical,” 
as Washington Irving truly affirms, is “as much an 
object of veneration as the Kaaba, or sacred house 
of Mecca, to all true Moslem pilgrims. How many 
legends and traditions, true and fabulous, how many 
songs and romances, Spanish and Arabian, of love, 
and war, and chivalry, are associated with this roman¬ 
tic pile!” 

Our route lies through the quaint old town, and 
up a steep street that brings us to the Puerta de 
las Granados, by which we enter the hilly avenue 
leading to the fortress. It is thickly wooded with 
lofty elms, originally reared on English ground; they 
form a beautiful arch, their leafy tops interlacing 


THE GENEKALIFE. 


91 


and affording a pleasantly shaded walk up the pre¬ 
cipitous ascent. Passing the fortress towering above 
the tree-tops on our left, for we are not permitted to 
enter at this early hour, we proceed onward to the 
Generolife^ through beautiful gardens planted with 
noble old cypresses and abounding in the walnut, 
the oleander, the aloe, the myrtle, and the vine. 
How delicious the perfume exhaled from every side! 

The Generalife^ an old Moorish royal residence, 
is perched on the opposite side of a deep wooded 
ravine separating it from the eminence on which 
stands the Alhambra. Ben raps at the portal with 
his trusty staff, the door is opened by a dark-eyed 
damsel, we enter the cool white colonnade and for 
the first time I behold the beautiful cedar ceilings of 
the Moor in all their pristine glory. The remaining 
portions of the building, as well as the walls of the 
Alhambra itself, have been whitewashed by the 
Spaniards, who delighted in effacin| those gorgeous 
tints for which the Moors were celebrated, and which 
modern architects have so vainly endeavoured to 
reproduce. 

We visit the portrait gallery, containing poor rub¬ 
bish, and after a stroll about the court, where I note 
the identical cypress under which, as tradition asserts, 
the sultana ofBoabdilwas discovered ,delicto 


92 


BOABDIL. 


with one of the Ahencerrages, we ascend to the cenador, 
or summer-house erected immediately above the villa. 

The view from this elevated position is so magnifi¬ 
cent that an adequate description would be impossible. 
Fronting us is the Alhambra, built like the castle at 
Edinburgh, on a lofty height overhanging the town ; 
a stately pile of majestic old buildings interspersed 
with verdant foliage and environed by walls studded 
with Moorish towers. Beyond lies the Vega, or plain, 
dotted with villages and clusters of trees, a vast arena 
fertilized with the blood of contending Moorish and 
Christian hosts, during the fourteenth and fifteenth 
centuries. In the distance rises the celebrated hill 
El ultimo suspiro del Moro, or “the last sigh of 
the Moor.” From this memorable spot, in 1492, 
Boabdil, the last Moorish sovereign of Granada, gave 
his last look at the Alhambra and sighed a long 
farewell to his departed greatness. Natural indeed 
was it that the ufthappy king should burst into tears 
at leaving for ever his beautiful domain. “ Who can 
wonder at his anguish at being expelled from such a 
kingdom and such an abode? With the Alhambra 
he seemed to be yielding up all the honours of his 
line, and all the glories and delights of life.” * But the 
tables were turned, the Moorish dynasty, after a 

* Washington Irving’s “ Tales of the Alhambra.” 


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THE ALHAMBRA,FROM THE BENERALtFE. 







GEANADA. 


93 


glorious duration of eight centuries, had ceased to 
exist, the Crescent had yielded to the Cross ; the 
Christian banner waved triumphantly over the Al¬ 
hambra, and all was lost. Nothing remained to the 
wretched Boabdil but to retire to Fez, and mourn in 
exile his cruel fate. 

More immediately before us, but far below, lies the 
city of Granada; to the right the old Moorish town, 
the gipsy quarter, called the Alhaysin^ with its caves 
burrowing into the hill beyond; behind stretches 
away the glorious Sierra Nevada^ a lofty range of 
mountains, the highest peaks upwards of two miles 
above the level of the sea and covered with per¬ 
petual snows. The prospect is truly splendid. 
What a noble panorama of city and country; of 
rocky mountain, verdant valley, and fertile plain; of 
castle, cathedral, Moorish towers, and Gothic domes, 
crumbling ruins, and blooming groves.” I forthwith 
produce my book and commence a hurried sketch of the 
Alhambra fortress, while Ben’s tongue wags away as 
rapidly as I commit the outlines of the scene to paper. 

Sauntering back through bowers redolent in per¬ 
fume, where— 

“ Every air is heavy with the sighs 
'• Of orange-groves, and music of sweet lutes, 

And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth 
r the midst of roses ” 


94 


FAIRYLAND. 


I decidedly “like the picture” actually represented 
in glowing colours before me. As I gaze dreamily 
at the sunny arcades of the Generalife, my fancy 
wanders to the Arabian Nights, to tales of fairyland 
and traditions of romantic fable. Imagination bodies 
forth Prince Ahmed el Kamel, the pilgrim of love, 
pining in his cheerful prison-house, communing with 
his feathered companions, and finally winging his 
way to his loved Aldegonda in far-off Toledo. I 
ponder over the legend of the three beautiful prin¬ 
cesses, and in my mind’s eye behold the gallant cava¬ 
liers at the foot of the tower, receiving their fond 
mistresses into their arms; and discern the gentle 
Zorahaydah trembling at the lattice window, fearing 
to, descend, yet unwilling to remain. 

But Bensaken brutally pats my reveries to flight by 
reminding me that I am trifling time: reluctantly 
tearing myself from the enchanted spot, I follow my 
tyrant back to Granada, and, after a hasty repast, 
am remorselessly dragged about the town, visiting 
some of its many interesting localities. The Capilla 
de los Reyes, forming part of the cathedral, contains 
the tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella. They are of 
beautiful alabaster, and surmounted by the marble 
effigies of the slumbering pait. Near the altar are 
kneeling figures of the king and queen; behind them 


THE GATE OF JUSTICE. 


95 


is a curious painted sculpture, representing the sur¬ 
render of the keys of the Alhambra by Boabdil to 
Mendoza, the cardinal, in presence of the royal con¬ 
querors. The Cartuja convent is elaborately inlaid 
with splendid marbles, tortoiseshell, and ivory orna¬ 
ments. The convent of San Jeronimo^ once a 
splendid edifice, and the convent of Domingo, 
with its large collection of paintings are well worth 
visiting. 

The whole town abounds in Moorish remains, 
horseshoe arches and tottering gateways. The Carrera 
del Darro^ and i\ie^Salon, with its lofty trees and 
fountains, are fine promenades near the pretty rivers 
Darro and Xenil. 

Ill the afternoon, we again wend our way to the 
Alhambra, and once more enter its leafy precincts. 
An abrupt countermarch to the left brings us in front of 
la Torre de Justicia^ or “Gate of Justice,” the en¬ 
trance to the Alhambra fortress, a huge Moorish tower 
built in 1308. On the keystone of the lofty archway 
is sculptured an op'en hand, and over the inner portal 
a key. The meaning of these symbols is much dis¬ 
puted, but the generally received opinion seems to be 
that it was the belief of the Moors that until the hand 
grasped the key, the Alhambra would remain secure 
from the attacks of the Christian hosts. As they 



the immense confidence the Moslem reposed in his 
strength, and the supreme contempt with which he 
regarded the Christian hosts. I cannot pass this 
interesting old pile without producing my sketch¬ 
book, while Ben, taking his seat on a low adjacent 


90 the gate of justice. 

could scarcely have believed this contingency pos¬ 
sible, the hand and key may be taken as typical of 


LA TORRE ^DE JUSTICIA^ 






THE ALHAMBEA. 


97 


wall, waits patiently till I give the word to march 
Proceeding onward we enter the double gateway and 
passing between ruinous stone walls, emerge on the 
Plaza de los Algihes^ or “place of the cisterns/’ so 
called from a deep well whence the Aguadores draw 
the water they hawk about the town, carrying it in 
barrels slung around their shoulders, or in large 
earthen bottles suspended from the backs of donkeys. 
Numbers of these water-carriers, with their perpetual 
cries of, Quien quiere agua ? Agua mas fria. que la 
nieye f dawdle and gossip about the place, now fre-' 
quented almost exclusively by old women, children, 
and paupers. Occupying a conspicuous position in 
the plaza stands the palace of Charles V., a handsome 
edifice, which has never been completed, and in all 
human probability will remain in itsrpresent unfinished 
condition to the last syllable of recorded time. 

A narrow wicket a4mits us to the palace. To use 
Irving’s own words, for here my own feeble powers of 
description fail me, “ the transition was almost magical: 
it seemed as if we were at once transported into other 
times and another realm, and were treading the scenes 
of Arabian story. We found ourselves in a great 
court, paved with white marble, and decorated at 
each end with light Moorish peristyles: it is called 
the court of the Alberca. In the centre was an 


H 


98 


THE ALHAMBEA. 


immense fishpond, 130 feet in length by 30 in 
breadth, stocked with gold-fish, and bordered by 
hedges of roses. At the upper end of this court rose 
the great Tower of Comares. 

“ From the lower end we passed through a Moorish 
archway into the renowned Court of Lions. There 
is no part of the edifice that gives us a more complete 
idea of its original beauty and magnificence than this, 
for none has suffered so little from the ravages of time. 
In the centre stands the fountain, famous in song and 
story. The alabaster basins still shed their diamond 
drops; and the twelve lions which support them cast 
forth their crystal streams as in the days of Boabdil. 
The court is laid out in flower-beds, and surrounded 
by light Arabian arcades of open filigree work, sup¬ 
ported by slender pillars of white marble. The archi¬ 
tecture, like that of all the other parts of the palace, 
is characterized by elegance rather than grandeur; 
bespeaking a delicate and graceful taste, and a dis¬ 
position to indolent enjoyment. When one looks 
upon the fairy tracery of the peristyles, and the 
apparently fragile fretwork of the walls, it is difficult 
to believe that so much has survived the wear and 
tear of centuries, the shocks of earthquakes, the 
violence of war, and the quiet, though no less baneful 
pilferings of the tasteful traveller: it is almost suffi- 


THE ALHAMBRA. 


99 


cient to excuse the popular tradition, that the whole 
is protected by a magic charm.” 

Enchanted with the extreme beauty of the fanciful 
architecture which surrounds us, I wander from corri^ 
dor to corridor, from hall to hall, from vestibule 
to vestible, deriving renewed pleasure at every turn. 
We visit the hall of the Ahencerrages, where Ben 
points out the blood-stained basin w^hich received 
the heads of the illustrious warriors of that family, 
massacred here by order of the jealous Boabdil; at 
least, so runs the story. Passing on, we explore the 
gorgeous hall of the Ambassadors, noting its beautiful 
roof and exquisitely traceried walls; the Tower of 
Comares; the hall of the Two Sisters; the Tocador 
de la Reina^ or queen’s boudoir, a queer little pigeon¬ 
hole, the walls of which are covered with uncouth mo¬ 
dern paintings scratched all over with autographs of 
the snobbish tourists who delight in perpetuating their 
vandalisms wherever they go. We descend to the bath 
rooms, lined with azulejos^ of blue tiles, and visit the 
dungeons and numerous subterranean passages rami¬ 
fying throughout the building. It is not till night has 
fairly set in, that I inscribe my name in the visitors’ 
book, and regretfully quit this majestic monument of 
the Moslem domination. The model by Owen Jones, 
erected in the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, conveys 


100 


PATRIOTIC BEN. 


an excellent impression of the glories of the splendid 
pile; though the colours adopted hy the modern 
architect are said to be but poor imitations of the 
delicate tints used by the Moors, and they* columns 
utterly false substitutes for the marble pillars sur- 
rounding the Court of Lions. 

Wearied by the arduous day’s toil, and surfeited 
with beauties of art and nature, I follow Bensaken 
back to the town. The fine old fellow seems but 
little fatigued, and garrulously entertains me with his 
private opinion of persons in general, and the English 
in particular. He gives me prolix accounts of having 
had the honour of exhibiting the palace to the 
Emperor of the French, and to the Prince of W^ales. 
He also informs me that he considers himself an 
Englishman to all intents and purposes, being fortu¬ 
nate enough to have been born at Gibraltar; a con¬ 
venient locality, by-the-by, for persons of his calling, 
as they can suit their birth to the parties they wish to 
conciliate. ‘^Ah,” says Ben, “I always stand up for 
the English. Whenever an ugly Englishwoman visits 
Granada, and I am asked what country she comes 
from, I say from America, or elsewhere; and when 
officers come up from Gibraltar, and kick up the 
devil’s delight in the town, I swear they are Scotch 
or Irish, but never allow they are English.” 


A MILD TEA-FIGHT. 


101 


Cunning old file! astute old Janus ! I revere thee 
for thy pseudo patriotism, I honour thee for thy happy 
mppressio veri^ I respect thee for thy Machiavelian 
diplomacy. Ben having conducted me to the door of 
Don Diego, an old acquaintance residing at Granada, I 
tip him a dollar, he makes me a profound salute and 
retires in his usual grave, imperturbable, and dignified 
manner. I ring the bell; door flies open through 
some invisible agency. “ Quien es T’ shouts a female 
from above. “ Gente de paz^ I want Don Diego; I’m 
come to take a cup of tea with him I” “ No entiendo 
una palahra'^ Never mind, my beauty. I’ll just 
step in,” and suiting the action to the word, I dash up, 
to the astonishment of the worthy housekeeper, who 
is suspiciously watching my movements on the stairs. 
I find Diego very comfortably lodged in a wonder¬ 
fully snug parlour, where we spend a pleasant evening 
over the cup which cheers but not inebriates, and it 
is not till a late hour that I bid him farewell and 
return to the fonda. 

The streets are now silent and deserted, lighted 
with miserable oil lamps few and far between, patrolled 
here and there by a solitary watchman, who with 
halberd and lantern slowly flits along the pavement, 
occasionally crying the hour and awakening the 
echoes of the sleeping city. 


102 



CHAFTEK VI. 

PENETRATE INTO ANDALUSIA. . 

At four on the following morning, ‘ boots ’ knocks at 
my door, rousing me from dreams of fairyland to 
the stern realities of the diligence. Hastily cramming 


ANDALUSIAN PEASANTS. 




TRAVELLING AND HOTEL EXPENSES. 


103 


my things into my portmanteau, a lump of cotton into 
my ear, and a cup of chocolate down my throat, I am 
ready to start, and take my seat in the herlina of the 
diligence bound for Bailen. I may here remark that 
hotel expenses in Spain are moderate. The average 
charge per diem, inclusive of board and lodging, 
amounts to from thirty to forty reales, though it is 
often as low as twenty-five. The fares by diligence 
are somewhat high. From Malaga to Granada, a 
distance of about sixty-five miles, a seat in the herlina 
costs one hundred and twenty or about five- 

pence per mile; from Granada to Bailen, twenty-four 
Spanish leagues, I paid one hundred and thirty-six 
reales, about fourteen pence per league, or 3*47 
English miles.. Excess of luggage is charged heavdy 
for, but a portmanteau or hat-box passes free of charge. 

There being no direct road from Granada to 
Cordova, I am compelled to take the diligence to 
Bailen, there to catch the down stage from Madrid 
to Cordova, and thus make a journey of about one 
hundred and sixty miles to accomplish a much 
shorter distance. We start at 5*15 A. M., and bump¬ 
ing over the horribly uneven pavement, soon leave 
Granada behind us. Many a farewell glance do I 
give at the old town, and like Boabdil, sigh at 
leaving so romantic and beautiful a spot. A military 


104 


ANDALUSIANS. 


man, or rather boy, shares the herlina with me and 
we endeavour to get up a conversation in the French 
language, with which however my companion is so 
little conversant that I soon give up the attempt 
in despair. The poor lad is not overburdened with 
luggage; his sole effects consist of a shako, a sword, 
and a wallet, containing his kit and a small supply of 
the staff of life; yet he is an officer withal^ and 
I cannot help contrasting his hardy, frugal lot 
with the more luxurious circumstances of our com¬ 
paratively wealthy subs. 

The country we are now traversing is very fine; 
we are in the heart of far-famed Andalusia: in the 
course of the morning we pass through a tunnel pierc¬ 
ing the solid rock, amid wildly picturesque scenery. 
Lofty mountain&j verdant hills, peaked eminences, and 
craggy defiles frown around, while figs, apricots, and 
pomegranates abound on every side. The peasants 
here are immense bucks compared with the swarthy 
Valencianos. These are the men we see depicted 
in bright colours on fruit-boxes, fans, and Academy 
paintings; these are the swells who sport gay jackets 
with many buttons, knee-breeches with gaudy side- 
stripes, and embroidered gaiters with floating fringe; 
these are the fellows who play the guitar, rattle the 
castanets, and caper through the bolero at the Hay- 


JAEK 


105 


market. But where are the haylarinas ? where is 
the bewitching dariseuse of the Perea Nena school ? 
where the nymphs who have erewhile dazzled and 
intoxicated me with their undulating motions and 
alluring postures in the glorious cachuchal Echo 
answers, where ? I begin to suspect that the graceful 
creature who enters the stage on the tip of her toes, 
envelops her head, white shoulders, and swelling 
bust in the snowy mantilla^ luxuriates in short skirts 
and silk fleshings, taps her anxious lover with her 
quivering fan, and finally issuing from her veil like a 
rosebud bursting into bloom, gives a tremendous leap 
into the air and falls into the arms of her expectant 
amante^ is in sober earnest but a sheer myth. I am 
told that I have come to Spain at the wrong season 
to see the ladies to advantage, but nothing will 
persuade me that any such female as the one I have 
described exists but in the mystic chateaux en 
Espagne, or in the fertile imaginations of cockney 
playgoers. 

After a delightful drive we arrive at Jaen, a 
prettily situated town under the brow of a steep 
castle-crowned hill. Here we stop to change our 
team, and I seize the opportunity to pay a hurried 
visit to the fine cathedral built on the site of an old 
mosque in 1492. On my return to, the - diligence, 


106 


DILIGENCE MISERIES. 


I find ensconced in the herlina an ill-favoured, 
bilious-looking creature, who adds not a little to the 
horrible discomfort and heat I have to endure during 
the remainder of the journey. 

A total change for the worse now comes over the 
face of the country. For hours we traverse sandy 
plains unbroken by any object of interest and rendered 
intolerably wearisome by their melancholy and mono¬ 
tonous aspect. Time lags on with leaden wings, 
I am getting rabid with the heat, and maddened 
by the deafening yells of the drivers and the jingling 
of the mules. The ceaseless cries of “ alza ! alza /! 
alzalll” the apparition of that ruffianly young pos¬ 



tilion with his sturdy arm incessantly flagellating his 


BAILEN. 


107 


mules, the zagal constantly racing alongside the 
team, and the mayoral in a perpetual state of stone¬ 
throwing, haunt me for days and days afterwards. 
Leagues and leagues are passed in this tedious 
manner till 6*15 p. m., when we drive into the dreary 
village of Bailen. Here was fought the memorable 
battle between the Spanish and French in 1808, 
when the former, under Castanos, achieved a glorious 
victory. Joyfully I quit the dusty vehicle and at 
once begin seeking information respecting the arrival 
of the dilly from Madrid; but here arises a slight 
difficulty. Not a soul understands English or French, 
and it is not until, mustering up my Spanish, I 
exclaim, with frantic energy, “ Quiero ir a Cordova I 
Quiero ir a Cordova V that a couple of good Chris¬ 
tians step forward, and by signs and symbols vaguely 
intimate that they too are going in the same direction, 
and I consequently determine to keep near them till 
the advent of the diligence. 

I Dinner is now served in posada^ where are set 
before us, among other delicacies of the season, some 

I delicious grapes and luscious melons ; of the former 

I I partake with gusto, the latter I regard with loathing 

J and abhorrence. Dessert over, we all take our seats 
in the hall and commence waiting for the dilly. I 
say commence, for we wait no less than five mortal 




108 


MOSQUITOES. 


hours in that gloomy hall, lighted by a feeble, Lady 
Macbeth-like oil lamp shedding a flickering ray over 
the dismal scene, amid musty men, frowsy females, 
crying children, dirty dogs and screaming swine. 
My companions for the nonce squat themselves on 
chairs and begin chewing cigarettes, while I turn 
my attention to my faithful pipe. We are a whim¬ 
sical trio, and I am forcibly reminded of the three 
calendars in the Arabian nights, for one is dead lame, 
the other sand-blind, and I half deaf. And now the 
mosquitoes commence operations in great force. 
Hum! buzz! and the playful insect whirrs past my 
ear, and settles on my hand; another to another still 
succeeds, the third is like the former: stinging gnats. 


why do you bite me thus ? 
A fourth? start eyes! 
what! will the line stretch 
out to the crack of doom ? 
Another yet ? A seventh ? 
I’ll see no more: and yet 
the eighth appears. O, 
it is time to smash them; 
so with a desperate effort 
I bring down my right 



a tremendous 

smack upon the left, and squash—not one mosquito, 


INTERIOR OF THE DILIGENCE. 


109 


but my unfortunate knuckles instead. In fresh 
numbers the undaunted swarm assail me on all sides, 
till I am compelled to shroud myself to the eyes 
in my cape, and thus escape their harassing attacks. 

The solemn hour of midnight, when churchyards 
yawn, and tourists likewise, is tolling from a neigh¬ 
bouring clock when a rumbling is heard in the street 
and presently the huge diligence, looming in the dis¬ 
tance rouses us from the lethargic state into which we 
have fallen and we sally forth for the booking office. 
“Well, Mr., have you any seats in the berlinaV (the 
last word loudly and carefully pronounced.) “ No^ 
Sefiory Interior V Si, SenorJ* Now, I want a 
through ticket for Seville, so I exclaim with a mighty 
effort which nearly dislocates my jaw: “ Interior 
diligencia, primera classe, ferro carrill “ Si, Senorl 
“ Recollect now, Primera classe /’■ I am getting on 
; famously with my Spanish this time. Paying 198 
I reales fare, I have my trunk and hat-box, or to speak 
i more correctly, my maleta and somhrerera, conveyed 
I to the dilly, and ensconce myself in the interior, on 
entering which I am nearly overpowered by the stifling 
heat; never have I felt anything like it before; not 
even in the pit of the Princess’s at a grand Shak- 
spearian revival. There are three occupants besides 
myself, to wit, my blear-eyed friend, and a hideous 



110 


SPANISH EXPLETIVES. 


man. with his spouse, a coarse bloated female who 
expectorates freely out of the window the whole night. 
In this agreeable company I resign myself a martyr 
to the fearful aroma arising from exuding skins, 
a steaming compound of carbonic acid, and a strong 
suspicion of garlic. 

At about four in the morning, we halt at a ventd 
to take a refresco, and I am not sorry to get a 
mouthful of fresh air and a cup of chocolate. The 
postilion here meets with a mishap, being ferociously 
bitten in the hand, not by mosquitoes as I have been, 
but by one of the horses, a regular Cruiser, who 
seizes him with his teeth and nearly tears his finger 
off. The poor fellow dances about in agony, and 
hurls at the offending animal a string of vindictive 
epithets of which I distinctly remember, “ Caramba!” 
Maldita sea!” and other far more forcible expletives. 
Though never able to arrive at the true meaning 
of these imprecations, so constantly in the mouths of 
the Spanish lower classes, I understand them to tally 
somehow with the improper language indulged in by 
London cabbies and aborigines of the “ black country ” 
in England. The lady occupants of the berlina having 
kindly produced linen bandages and bound up the 
lacerated digit in a very kind and motherly manner, 
we again set forth on our journey. 


COEDOVA. 


Ill 


Daylight finds us kicking up clouds of dust on a 
road winding through a desolate barren country; 
passing occasionally long trains of mules slowly 
wending their way in single file like camels in the 
desert plains of Africa. The heat hourly increases, 
and as the blind calendar will insist on keeping the 
louvre-boards closed to shut out the sun, the diligence 
soon becomes like a locomotive oven. My hands are 
in a most alarming condition, completely covered with 
red spots, caused by mosquito bites, which I greatly 
aggravate by scratching violently. Thankful indeed 
do I feel that this is my last diligence trial and that, 
for the remainder of my tour, I am to travel by the 
mighty agency of steam. At one o’clock p. m. we 
reach Cordova, and pull up at the Fonda Maraquita; 
whence, after partaking of a light oleaginous feed, I 
run out to see what I can of this once great city. 

Cordova (or Cordoba) is a melancholy place, a sad 
example of a nation’s decline, a mournful evidence 
of what mighty Spain once was. It was celebrated 
as the seat of learning and fine arts in the days of 
the Komans; Seneca, Lucan, and Henna were 
natives of this once vast and populous city. Under 
the dominion of the Goths and Arabs it contained 
mosques, palaces, libraries, cathedrals, and baths; 
but all are now gone to decay, and this once famous 


112 


COEDOVA. 


city, the second in Andalusia, is now but the wreck 
of its former self. 

“ There is the moral of all human tales; 

’Tis hut the same rehearsal of the past, 

First freedom, and then glory; when that fails. 

Wealth, vice, corruption ; barbarism at last. 

And History, with all her volumes vast. 

Hath but one page.” 

The mosque is a curious old pile ; the interior cut 
up into aisles by innumerable pillars of many-coloured 
marbles, granite, and porphyry, supporting double 
rows of arches; the edifice is a thousand years old. 
The ancient Eoman bridge is a very interesting 
structure; but there is little else to admire in this 
now miserably poverty-stricken place. 

At five I return to posada^ and for the last 
time enter the diligence; a short drive brings in 
view the following welcome sight:— 



1 hail it with a shout of rapture, and forgetting 





TICKETS, PLEASE! 


113 


whom I am addressing, call maniacally upon my 
fellow-travellers to join me in three cheers for steam. 
At the station (only a wretched shed), a railway 
official wearing a cap decorated with a small engine, 
brings me a first-class ticket. “ Gracias /” He then 
presents the hideous man and his bloated spouse with 
second-class hilletes to their great indignation; and I 
can perceive by their gesticulations they are en¬ 
deavouring to impress upon the official that their 
claims to first-class accommodation are quite equal 
to those of the “ cahallero Ingles^ But the man does 
not seem to look upon things in this light at all and 
comes to the sage conclusion that, on the contrary, I 
have as much right as they to a second class, and 
accordingly demands back my ticket. Not think¬ 
ing this the ticket at all, I put it to him in plain 
English, sic: “Look you, senor, I paid at Bailen 
iov primera classe^ ferro carril: you have given me a 
first-class hillete^ and as to surrendering it, as David 
in the ‘Bengal Tiger’ says to Miss Yellowleaf, ‘I 
don’t wish to use any language that it’s difficult for 
you to understand, but I’ll be blanked if I do!’ ” 
Without another word my worthy friend vanishes, 
and the ogre and his spouse ultimately find their way 
to the railway carriage in which I have taken 
my seat. It is a large saloon, containing a table 


114 


COEDOVA TO SEVILLE. 


and chairs, and admirably adapted to the heat of the 
climate, though I think a double roof would be an 
improvement. At 6 p. m. we leave the station. How 
delightful the gliding motion of the train, compared 
with the jolting I have endured on the Queen s high¬ 
way ! Oh a matter of twenty-six hours in a Spanish 
diligence is not easily forgotten ! We are all smoking 
like volcanoes, and by the time we reach our first 
stopping place, every head is out of the window, 
crying for water; women and children are busily 
supplying the wants of the thirsty souls, running from 
carriage to carriage with jugs and water-bottles, but 
by the time they reach our carriage the train is 
again in motion. Thirst passes away, and when we 
again came to a stand-still, the cry of “ Qiiien quiere 
agua T reaches my ears unheeded. 

Away we go, merrily skirting the banks of the 
Guadalquivir, till it begins to grow dark and some¬ 
what chilly ; I soon fall asleep, awakening at 11 p.m. 
to find that we are in Seville. Here occurs another 
little difficulty: the conductor of the diligence, who 
has accompanied us from Bailen, leads me to a 
carriage, and points off. “Yes, my good friend, but 
where is my equipajel produce my portmanteau? 
hand over my hat-box ?” But all is of no avail, I can 
no more understand the fellow’s gibberish than he 


SOLD AGAIN! 


115 


mine; so in despair I resign myself to my fate and 
jump into the carriage, totally ignorant and reckless 
whither. I am going. We drive right into the town, 
through numerous by-streets, till we arrive at a sort 
of office; I get out, wondering what on earth is going 
to happen, when, behold! there lie my impedimenta^ 
conveyed hither by some mysterious agency. A 
swarthy Carabinero makes me open my trunk, gives a 
grunt of approval, and I exclaim “ Fonda de Londres^ 
A porter steps up, shoulders my trunk, and we trot 
off through dark narrow streets till we emerge on the 
Plaza Nueva, where stands the desired hotel. The 
local guide, a Mr. Ferdinand Barlow, greets me on 
my arrival in good English. I ask him impatiently 
about the bull-fights. “Bull-fights, sir r very fine 
bull-fight, splendid bull-fight ”—I listen in breathless 
suspense—“ took place this morning, sir, and another 
will come off this day week!’ Sold again ! Madly 
I dash into a bedroom., call for a cup of cold pison, 
drain three tumblers of horchata, anathematise my 
tympanum, and plunge under the mosquito-curtains, 
where I dream of diligences, bulls, mules, postilions^ 
trains, tickets, mosquitoes. Moors, hideous Satyrs, 
and haggish crones. 


116 



CHAPTER VIL 

SWEET SEVILLE. 

Under the guidance of Mr. Barlow, an Englishman 
who claims to be distantly related to the famous 
William of that ilk, I proceed betimes in the morning 
. to visit the Iglesia Mayor^ or cathedral, a magnificent 
and stupendous building, indisputably the finest in 
Spain and infinitely larger than Westminster Abbey. 
The centre nave is very lofty, being one hundred and 
forty-five feet high, while the cimborio^ or transept, is 






THE IGLESIA MAYOK. 


117 


one hundred and seventy-one, or seventy feet higher 
than that of our abbey. A fair idea of this immense 
elevation may be gained from a knowledge of the 
fact, that the Nelson column in Trafalgar Square 
could stand under this transept without any danger 
of the hero’s cocked hat touching the roof The 
building,—of noble old Gothic, commenced in 1480 
on the ruins of the old Moorish mosque built by 
Yusuf Abu Yacub, of which the Giralda alone re_ 
mains,—is an oblong, four hundred and thirty-one 
feet long by three hundred and fifteen wide, divided 
into seven beautiful aisles. The pavements, of black 
and white marble, are superb, and the wood-carvings 
on the high altar of extraordinary beauty. One 
of the organs, containing no less than five thou¬ 
sand three hundred pipes, was constructed by Jorge 
Bosch in 1792. The general appearance of this grand 
and magnificent edifice, with its lofty columns, beautiful 
arches, gorgeous pavement, richly stained windows, 
and marvellous paintings, is extremely solemn anj 
imposing, and the efiect of light and shade falling 
upon the intricate though stately architecture is in¬ 
describably fine; the cathedral is indeed a noble 
monument of human handiwork. The beautiful 
Giralda^ or tower, is, for two hundred and fifty feet 
of its height, purely Moorish, having been erected in 


118 


THE GIEALDA. 


1169 ; the remaining portion was built by Ruiz, in 
1596. The ascent is accomplished, not as usual, by 
steps, but by a quadrangular inclined plane. Near 
the summit we are permitted to inspect the internal 
mechanism of the rare old clock which has been 
solemnly and sturdily ticking away for the last ninety- 
eight years. From the belfry a noble panorama pre¬ 
sents itself, embracing an immense extent of country, 
the Guadalquivir winding through the heart of the 
city, the enormous mass of houses, the palaces, con¬ 
vents, bull-ring, gardens, churches, and plazas below, 
the olive plantations and distant plains beyond, bathed 
in the glow of an Andalusian sun. 

Seville is a fine old city, and was formerly the capital 
of Spain, till Philip II. established his court at 
Madrid: in 1247 it contained three hundred thou¬ 
sand souls, but the population is now reduced to 
ninety-six thousand; though like many other Spanish 
cities, fallen to decay, Seville still possesses many 
attractions, 

“ While an old Spanish proverb runs glibly as under, 

‘ Quien no ha visto Sevilla 
No ha visto maravilla! ’ 

‘ He who ne’er has viewed Seville has ne’er view’d a Wonder! 

And from all I can learn this is no such great blunder. 

In fact, from the river, 

The famed Guadalquivir, 


THE ALCAZAR. 


119 


Where many a knight’s had cold steel through his liver, 

The prospect is grand. The Iglesia Mayor 
Has a splendid effect on the opposite shore, 

With its lofty Oiralda^ while two or three score 
Of magnificent structures around, perhaps more, 

As our Irish friends have it, are there ‘ to the fore 
Then the old Alcazar, 

More ancient by far, 

As some say, while Some call it one of the palaces 
Built in twelve hundred and odd by Abdalasis, 

With its horse-shoe shaped arches of Arabesque tracery. 

Which the architect seems to have studied to place awry, 

Saracenic and rich; 

And more buildings ‘ the which,’ 

As old Lilly, in whom I’ve been looking a bit o’ late. 

Says, ‘ You’d be bored should I now recapitulate 
In brief, then, the view 
Is so fine and so new. 

It would make you exclaim, ’twould so forcibly strike ye. 

If a Frenchman, ‘ Superhe i’—if an Englishman, ‘ Crikey! ” * 

With this lively and witty description recurring to 
my mind, I descend the Givalda^ and visit the 
Alcazar^ or royal residence, built in 1364 by Don 
Pedro, after the expulsion of the Moors. It is a 
splendid imitation of its prototype, the Alhambra; 
the whitewash has been removed; and the colours and 
gilding recently restored, glittering in gorgeous splen¬ 
dour, serve to convey a fair impression of what the 
Alhambra must have been prior to the conquest 
of Granada. Nothing can exceed the beauty of the 

* “ Auto-da-Fe.”—Ingoldsby Legends. 


120 


FIGAEO. 


ceilings; they are veritably “ majestic roofs fretted 
with golden firethat of the Hall of Ambassadors 
is superb; from one of the balconies in this chamber, 
Don Pedro is said to have v/itnessed the murder of 
his brother, whom he caused to be assassinated with 
disgusting treachery: the guide shows the blood¬ 
stained marble where the tragedy took place. The 
walls are covered with elegant and fanciful carv¬ 
ings, azulejos, mosaics, and curious tesselations. 
After a long ramble through these magnificent 
saloons, we leave the Alcazar and visit the Record 
Office, a handsome Doric building on an elevated 
basement; the staircase, composed of marble with 
jasper ornaments, leads to a quadrangular building 
two hundred feet square, containing the papers of 
Columbus, Cortes, and Pizarro, innumerable books, 
documents, and archives arranged in handsome 
mahogany book-shelves. 

Passing the Plaza de la Aduana^ Barlow points 
out No. 15 as the abode of Figaro, the immortal origi» 
nal of “ the Barber of Seville,” now silent and de¬ 
serted as formerly noisy and thronged with loungers 
and gossiping quidnuncs. We next visit the Museo, 
where we see in an immense room a collection of 
daubs, with here and there a redeeming painting; 
the Sala de Murillo^ however, contains some of 


THE MUSEO. 


121 


Murillo’s choicest gems, and I esteem it no small 
privilege to be enabled to inspect them without being 
incommoded by a crowd of eager sight-seers. The 
great painter lived and died in Seville, which may 
well be proud of having been the birthplace of so 
famous an Apelles. Though the day is oppressively 
sultry, after a refresco of delicious agraz^ or grape- 
water, we recommence our rambles and explore many 
places and objects of note in the course of the after¬ 
noon. The Casa del Ayuntamiento^ or town-hall; 
the naval college of San Telmo, the patron saint of 
Spanish sailors; the archbishop’s palace; the gun 
foundry; the percussion-cap factory, and the pottery 
at Cartuja are all well worth seeing, and I regret that 
my limited sojourn does not permit me to visit the 
whole. At 4 p. M. we return to the cathedral, first 
looking in at La Columhina, or library of Columbus, 
which contains a fine portrait of the illustrious 
navigator, books in large quantities, portraits of arch¬ 
bishops, and many curious relics; on the staircase I 
observe the tomb of Inigo Mendoza, who died in 
1497. Entering the cathedral by a horseshoe arch, 
overhung by the queer effigy of a crocodile, sent by 
the Sultan of Egypt to Alonso el Sabio, in 1260, with 
the modest demand of his daughter’s hand in return, 
we proceed to the Capilla Real, where we witness a 


122 


FEEDINAND, THE COHQUEEOK. 

very imposing ceremony. The body of Ferdinand 
the Conqueror, who retook Seville from the Moors in 
1248, and died in 1252, lies buried here in state; 
the corpse is deposited in a massive silver urna, or 
coffin, with a glass side, placed upon the original 
sepulchre in front of the altar; and thrice a year the 
canonised bones are exposed to view for a few hours: 
this being one of the appointed days, I am so 
fortunate as to see the whole affair. 

Taking our stand near the altar, we await the arrival > 
of the troops, who presently enter playing a dead 
march, the sound of the drums reverberating about 
the lofty roof of the cathedral with a solemn and 
awful effect. The troops, with their straw-coloured 
shakos slipped over the backs of their necks, form in 
double ranks along the aisle, the band in the centre ; 
the colours are lowered, the national anthem is 
played, and during its performance a priest pulls 
up the curtain of the urna and discloses the body: 
the soldiers file off, leaving a guard over the body, 
which we are now permitted to approach. There 
lies all that remains of the once mighty Ferdinand : 
for six hundred years has he slept in peace; a black, 
attenuated skeleton, ready to crumble into dust* on 
the admission of a breath of air, the shrunken 
skull encircled by a golden crown, and adorned with 


TOBACCO FACTORY. 


123 


various insignia of regal pomp, presents a mournful 
picture of the transitory character of all human 
greatness. 

“ For within the hollow crown, 

That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 

Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits, 

Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; 

Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
To monarchise, be fear’d, and kill with looks : 

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,— 

As if this flesh, which walls about our life. 

Were brass impregnable, and, humour’d thus. 

Comes at the last, and with a little pin 

Bores through his castle walls and—farewell king! ” 

These beautiful lines I have so often heard 
declaimed by Kean “ with good accent and discre¬ 
tion,” are forcibly recalled to mind by the ghastly 
relic before me; nor can I drive the image of poor 
King Richard s sorrows from my mind for some time 
afterwards. Flying from grave to gay, we en¬ 
deavour to obtain admission to the tobacco factory, 
but the Cerberus at the gate refuses us admission, 
alleging that, owhig to the intense heat, the eight 
thousand females employed in making cigars are 
working in all but puris naturalihus; propriety of 
course being indispensable, I consequently miss a 
spectacle as ludicrous as the preceding one was 
solemn. 


124 


THE BULL-RlKa. 


Heturning to the hotel, I dine at the table d hote, 
where we are a very select party, consisting of 
the worthy host, a hairy Englishman, and my¬ 
self. Getting into conversation with Mr. Downy, we 
agree to spend the evening together, and, post 
prandium^ visit the bull-ring, one of the largest, if 
not the largest, in Spain; I find the arena is one 
hundred paces in diameter, or forty paces wider than 
Regent Circus, and pity the poor devil who has 
to regain the harrera before the bull can transfix 
him with his horns. The ring will hold from 
fourteen to sixteen thousand spectators ^ and ani¬ 
mated indeed must be the spectacle when the benches 
are occupied by such an immense multitude of 
excited pleasure-seekers; the bull-dogs in their lair 
bark furiously at us, and the sight of the hides and 
hoofs of the bulls slaughtered in the previous day’s 
combat serves to increase my chagrin at being again 
disappointed in my savage thirst for blood. 

Leaving the bull-ring, with a sigh of regret on my 
part, we stroll about the Delicias^ov public prome¬ 
nade along the banks of the river, and come to an 
anchor on a stone bench to watch the gay throng of 
vehicles and equestrians passing before us. Pairs, 
unicorns, and even four-in-hand mule-teams rattle 
past; the whole scene is really delightful, and above 


LOVELY WOMAN. 


125 


all pleasantly cool after the morning’s heat. The 
inhabitants, who have retired into seclusion during 
the day, now pour forth in shoals to enjoy the 
refreshing breeze. The Calle de la Sierpe, or “ Bond 
Street of Seville,” is crowded with loungers, and the 
extensive cafe where we take our final refresco is 
filled with devotees to the cigarillo^ horchata, agraz^ 
coffee, and horrid mixtures of bad beer and lemon 
juice. The Plaza Nueva is thronged with gay groups, 
and taking our seats, we criticise the appearance and 
style of the beautiful senoritas gliding along the 
gas-lit walks. Lovely woman! How inimitable 
the coquettish wave of thy magic fan, the majestic 
carriage of thy graceful form, the thrilling glances 
of thy beauteous eyes! My susceptible nature is 
excited to such an alarming extent by thy incom¬ 
parable charms that I should tremble for the vows 
of celibacy made in dear phlegmatic old England, 
were my lot ever cast in the sunny clime of Andalusia. 

Punctual to the time appointed, the sleepy mozo 
arouses me at an early hour, and proceeding to don 
my dusty, travel-stained habiliments (light Derby 
paletots are not the garb to wear on a Spanish tour), 
I sally forth in company with the aforesaid menial in 
the direction of the public jail. Many are wending 
their way towards the same point where we are about 


126 


THE GAEOTTE. 


to witness the execution of a serjeant of artillery 
who has endeavoured to raise a mutiny in his 
troop by means of heavy bribes offered by the 
insurgent party. Fortunately, however, the soldiers 
have remained staunch to their queen and turned 
a deaf ear to the traitor’s arguments, whereupon 
the latter has himself divulged the whole affair in 
hope of pardon; the inhabitants have petitioned 
that the traitor’s life may be spared ; but the fiat has 
gone forth—the unhappy man’s doom is sealed—the 
serjeant must die on the scaffold ! 

At seven we find ourselves in the crowd immedi- , 
ately beneath the prison walls. Large bodies of 
troops are drawn up on either side of the plaza^ and 
there is a tolerably large concourse of male spectators 
present. In a few minutes “the mournful cortege” 
appears upon the wall. First comes the executioner, 
the Spanish Calcraft, a wiry-looking fellow, carrying 



I 







THE GAROTTE. 


127 


a coil of rope; next conies a very stout padre, armed 
with a baton, and bawling out prayers at the top of 
his voice; he is followed by the convict, who walks 
on in uniform, with his neck bare and arms pinioned, 
clasping the cross in his hands, and looking literally 
in a blue fright; a couple more priests, and two 
armed sentries, complete the group, who range 
themselves along the wall, the criminal in the centre. 
The terrible scene is long protracted :. the fat padre 
roars out Ave Marias, exhortations, and prayers, 
waving his baton frantically in the air, and making 
the miserable wretch repeat after him; he then 
clasps him in his arms, and sitting down on chairs 
opposite each other, they are covered with a large 



black pall held by the supernumerary priests; under 
this they remain for some time perfectly motionless. 






128 


THE GAROTTE. 


while the poor creature is unburdening his soul and 
pouring forth his load of crimes into the ear of his 
confessor. 

The nerves of the spectators are strained to an 
intense pitch during the awful pause, as is evident 
from the oppressive silence which prevails, and the 
ajaxious looks directed at the scaffold. At length the 
pall is removed, and the executioner proceeds to 
business. The culprit is made to sit against an 
upright post, to which he is firmly lashed; the garotte, 
a machine consisting of an iron collar, worked back 
by a powerful screw and a long lever, is carefully 
adjusted round his neck, a small handkerchief thrown 
over his face, and all is ready. The priest recom¬ 
mences shouting, while the executioner, preparing 
himself for a mighty effort, suddenly turns the 
handle two or three times as , quick as lightning; 
the head of the victim drops, the knees and arms 
quiver for a few seconds, and all is over ; priests 
and sentries retire, Calcraft peeps under the handker¬ 
chief and whipping it off with a jerk, immediately 
disappears, leaving the ghastly corpse exposed to open 
view. It is a sickening and disgusting sight: the fac 
is of a livid hue, the tongue protruding, and shedding 
saliva on the breast; the bystanders shudder, the 
troops march off with drums gaily beating, and the 


THE GAKOTTE. 


129 


crowd slowly and orderly disperses. I make a rapid 
sketch of the body, and return to the hotel, fully 
satisfied that, were it not for the cruel state of 
suspense in which the criminal is kept before the 
execution, the punishment of the garotte is far more 
merciful and expeditious than the less speedy death 
by hanging in this country. I am also very favour¬ 
ably impressed by the demeanour of the crowd, 
whose quiet decorous behaviour strangely contrasts 
with the disgraceful conduct of the rabble at a 
“ hanging-match ” in the Old Bailey. 



K 







130 



SPANISH PADRES. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

STEAM DOWN THE GUADALQUIVIR TO CADIZ. 

Bidding adieu to Seville, sweet Seville, I embark in 
the harco de vapor, El Adriano, bound for Cadiz g 
the steamer is a small one, a cross between a Green¬ 
wich and a Margate passage-boat, partaking of the 
accommodation of the former and the speed of the 
latter. We have a goodly number of passengers 
on board, mostly “ commercials ” {not English gracias 
a Dios) ; several Frenchmen and a fair sprinkling of 




THE GUADALQUIVIR. 


131 


padres^ some fat, very fat, and others painfully lean 
and cadaverous. At 9 a. m. we leave the quay, 
and paddle down the river. The scenery at fjrst 
starting is rather fine, but a few miles on becomes 
very barren and uninteresting. 

The Guadalquivir has been sung and prated about 
a great deal by the native poets, who have indulged 
in absurd rhapsodies concerning its beauty, and talked 
infinite rubbish about the ring-dove laughing on its 
banks from excess of love, beauteous nymphs girdling 
its amorous current, and so forth ; but the unvarnished 
truth simply is that it would scarcely be possible to 
imagine a more dull dreary river: sluggishly it winds 
its tortuous course to the Atlantic, perpetually exhal¬ 
ing fevers, ague, and malaria from its fetid swamps. 
I venture to assert without fear of contradiction, that 
the Thames in the neighbourhood of Sheerness, 
Plumsted Marshes, or Erith, is cheerful and ani¬ 
mated as compared with this lonely, turbid stream: 
nothing appears on the banks to relieve their 
monotony save an occasional herd of wild cattle 
which stare savagely at the steamer as it ploughs 
its solitary course, and scamper off as the wasn of 
the paddles breaks upon the shore. 

The day is oppressively hot; and as the Adriano 
follows the bends of the river the passengers have to 


132 


SAN LUCAK. 


shift their seats under the awning and occupy alter¬ 
nately the opposite sides of the deck to avoid the 
rays of the sun. At 3 p. m. we reach San Lucar, 
a decayed town near the mouth of the river: the 
scenery here begins to improve; the right banks 
are now fringed with trees and deep^ woods, the 
resort of the wild boar and the vulture: above on 
the left lies San Lucar, with its spire and battle¬ 
ments bathed in the ruddy glow of the evening, sun. 
We stop and disembark the greater portion of the 
passengers at Bonanza, a short distance from the 
town, and again proceed on our voyage. “Steaming 
it away,” on emerging from the estuary, we round 
the Cipiona Point, and heading eastward for Cadiz, 
encounter a short chopping sea, proving that we are 
no longer in fresh water, and certainly not this time 
on the placid Mediterranean ; no, the waves are 
unmistakably green. Anon the town of Cadiz 
looms afar, a cluster of houses rising out of the sea. 
Our passage has been a long one: the engineer, an 
Englishman, in answer to my inquiries, informs me 
that the low state of the tide has retarded the boat’s 
progress, adding that we should have left “ Sivvle ” 
an hour earlier. At 5 P. m. we anchor in the road¬ 
stead ; boats pull out to the steamer, and hailing one, 
I pass my cape and hat-box into it, and am giving 


CADIZ. 


133 


instructions to the boatman to take in my trunk, 
when an over-zealous official, dressed pro tern, in a 
little brief authority, who has boarded the vessel, 
interferes to prevent me, alleging that the boat is full 
enough already, and that no more equipaje shall go 
into it. I remonstrate with the fellow,—of course 
with little success, and finding that my strenuous argu¬ 
ments are of none effect, I watch my opportunity, 
and the moment the fellow’s back is turned, hurl my 
trunk into the boat, jump in after it, and shoving 
off we hoist a lateen sail as the bullying official, dis¬ 
covering my escapade, foams with impotent fury on 
the sponson of the steamer. 

I step ashore amid a crowd of seamen, porters, 







134 


CADIZ. 


boatmen, and carahineros; the latter soon investigate 
the contents of my portmanteau, and nothing wrong 
being found therein (how such a contingency could 
be possible is to me a mystery), I am permitted to 
intrust it to a porter, and enter the town by an 
archway in the walls. 

The first objects which present themselves are some 
of the ugliest, blackest, and most repulsive-looking 
niggers it has ever been my misfortune to meet, all 
sitting in a row, and endeavouring to polish boots to a 
brightness rivalling the shining ebony of their own 
sable physiognomies. Marching up the street, I am 
delighted with its picturesque appearance; it is so gay, 
and above all so clean: such variety, such motley 
colours, such bright tints, such variations of light and 
shade, I have not seen equalled, save at Barcelona. 
After a long walk through the lively, bustling town, 
we arrive at Blinko's hotel, and entering the pretty 
planted court, in the centre of which a large banana- 
tree vegetating in a huge tub spreads its graceful 
leaves, I am greeted by a little black-looking dwarfish 
individual of a decidedly Hebrew cast of counte¬ 
nance who turns out to be Blinko himself. In very 
fractured English the diminutive Israelite gives me 
to understand that he has but one poor room to 
offer me; and forthwith conducts me to a gloomy 


CADIZ. 


135 



little den, some ten feet square, with two doors, 
one opening to a staircase, the other to a gloomy 


corridor, and with but one very small window to 
make darkness visible. Though not much relish¬ 
ing the appearance of the chamber, which is de¬ 
cidedly suggestive of mosquitoes, I endeavour to 
make the best of it, telling little Shylock that if his 
charges are commensurate with the accommodation 
he offers, we shall not quarrel when we come to settle 
accounts. 

Having dined frugally in the salle (i Tnangcr^ a 
large room hung with paintings of very coppery pans, 
exceedingly indigestible-looking melons, and other 
















136 


SPANISH SWELLS. 


solid petrified fruit studies, I repair to the drawing¬ 
room to enjoy my weed and the view from the balcony, 
which commands a delightful view of the sea. 

The apartment is full of ladies and young Spanish 
swells: the latter are perfect darlings, but do not 
command the reverence, nor inspire the awe due 
only to the true English swell, that great being 
made up of moustaches, whiskers, and imperturba¬ 
bility. A great deal of flirting is evidently going 
on, if I may guess from the impassioned glances of 
the enamoured swains, the coquettish behaviour of 
the ladies, and the tremulous movement of their fans, 
which are almost as eloquent as words to express the 
emotion of their bearers. As it is now time for 
evening parade, they all sally forth ; I soon follow 
their example, and strolling about the Alameda^ have 
a tender confab through a low grated window with 
two damsels, who, from their own account, rendered 
in very indifferent English, are intimately acquainted 
with every British officer in Gibraltar, and so forth. 
Wishing them huenas noclies^ I return to my den, 
and, despite the evolutions of a lively mosquito, who 
sounds his horn about my ears, sleep soundly till 
morning. 

On the following day, determined to see my last 
Spanish town thoroughly, I put a girdle completely 


CADIZ. 


137 


round the peninsula on which Cadiz is situated, walk¬ 
ing on the battlements now almost red hot from the 
intense heat of the sun, and in pursuing my tour 
come to the lighthouse of San Sebastian, built on 
the projecting rocky ledge, which proved the salva¬ 
tion of the town when the sea rose during the 
earthquake at Lisbon in 1755. From all I have 
heard and read of Calcutta, I come to the conclusion 
that Cadiz somewhat resembles it; for the white 
regular buildings, Moorish structures, neat houses 
with green, red, blue, and yellow blinds, here and 
there a solitary burnt-up palm, the harbour filled 
with shipping and dotted with white sails, the whole 
dazzlingly bright under the fierce and blinding glare 
of an unclouded sun, all give to the picture a certain 
oriental aspect. 

In the midst of these reflections, I am much amused 
at seeing a parcel of lazy fellows fishing off the walls 
with listless perseverance, and apparently as much 
success as the infatuated anglers who line the banks 
of the murky Serpentine. Never was the proverb of 
‘‘ a worm at one end and a fool at the other,” more 
applicable than in the present instance. 

Cadiz possesses but few objects of interest in the 
way of architectural remains or fine paintings; its 
great charm consists in the extreme cleanliness and 


338 


CADIZ TO GIBRALTAR. 


picturesque cbaracter of the streets. The women of 
Cadiz, celebrated for their loveliness, have given 
the town almost as great a notoriety for beauty as the 
innumerable sherry butts have for its vinous exports. 
It has often been the theatre of war: in 1596 it was 
assaulted and taken by Lord Esse^^, whose spoils 
were enormous: an attack upon the town by the 
English, under Lord Wimbleton, in 1625, was less 
successful: in 1702 Cadiz would infallibly have 
fallen before the fleet of the Duke of Ormond, had 
not the English and Dutch engaged in the expedition 
quarrelled among themselves, and' defeated their 
national objects by petty jealousies and paltry dis¬ 
putes, which were only reconciled by the splendid 
plunder they subsequently gained from the galleons of 
treasure so gallantly captured at Vigo. 

My survey of Cadiz being concluded, I must now 
think of resuming my flight. Returning to the hotel, 
I pay Blinko twenty-five reales for my accommoda¬ 
tion, and procuring a porter, proceed to the quay, and 
am soon sailing out to the steamer, ¥ille de Paris, lying 
in the roads with her steam up ready to leave for 
Gibraltar. We start at 4 p. m., having as usual plenty 
of priests on board, among them no less important a 
personage than the Roman Catholic bishop of Gib¬ 
raltar, a stern, keen-looking man, in a shovel hat and 


A LEVANTEK. 


139 


long gown. The padres are overheard to express a 
decided opinion regarding the certainty of a fine 
passage, from the bare fact of so all-powerful a divine 
being on board, and I fervently trust that their pre¬ 
dictions will prove well founded. 

To ray great satisfaction, I here encounter two 
English gentlemen, Messrs. Miles and Older^ resid¬ 
ing at Xeres de la Frontera : both are on their way 
to England and we continue fast friends all the way 
home. When the steamer is fairly under way, we 
descend to the saloon to fortify the inner man: the 
weather is fine, we have every prospect of a quick 
passage, and expect to arrive at Gibraltar about mid¬ 
night—but vain are the hopes of man! Towards 
nightfall the wind begins to rise, blowing dead on end. 
“By Jove!” says Miles, “we are going to have a 
Levanter!” and too truly are his fears realized, for 
the tyrant of Gibraltar soon begins to blow with terrific 
violence, the steamer pitching tremendously, and by 
dark we are, as Miles says, “regularly in for it,” Down 
bolt the priest and others to their cabins, where, 
huddled in their narrow berths, they resign themselves 
to a night of misery; Miles and I remain masters of 
the deck, where we continue the whole night. No 
earthly or watery power could induce me to turn into 
my berth, to be cabined, cribb’d, confined in a small 


140 


A LEVANTKE. 

den, tenanted besides by a couple of dreadfully sea¬ 
sick Spanish priests: purgatory would be a bed of 
roses in comparison. Off Cape Trafalgar the sea is 
terrific, and the boat pitches almost hows under, 
making but little headway in the teeth of the gale 
blowing through the Gut. Cries of distress, piteous 
supplications, and plaintive moans are heard from 
below; I bear up wonderfully, however, and pricking 
for the softest plank, throw myself along the deck, 
where I lie like a traveller taking my rest with my 
Inverness cape around me. 

Cold and gray breaks the dawn of the 25th August, 
as buffeting the angry billows, the steamer approaches 
the Kock of Gibraltar, peering through the gloom 
like a gigantic sphinx' on the bosom of the waters, 
and at 6 a. m. we anchor in the harbour, after a 
tedious passage of fourteen hours over a distance of 
seventy-five miles. I am much struck with the 
appearance of the mighty rock, rising bold and bluff 
some fifteen hundred feet above the level of the sea, 
with the town piled on the hill-side, and girdled from 
base to summit by ramparts bristling with cannon. 
Up crawl the priests, pale as ghosts and half dead 
from the horrors of the night: the poor creatures 
are on their way to Africa to convert (?) the heathen. 
Success attend their efforts! Their faith in the 


GIBKALTAK. 


141 


bishop has been in no way shaken by the storm, 
which they now attribute to three accursed heretics 
being on board, to wit, my two friends and self. 
Deluded padres / 


CHAPTEE THE LAST. 

ADVENTURES AT GIBRALTAR, AND VOYAGE HOME. 

On landing, what meets my gaze? No dirty 
little carabinero in straw-coloured shako and brown 
greatcoat, but a strapping English sentry of Her 
Majesty’s 100th foot, in the well-known scarlet uni¬ 
form of the British army^ with this difference that he 
sports a pugheree^ or linen turban, round his forage 
cap, to keep off the sun. No trouble now about pass¬ 
ports, no custom-house, no quarantine, ‘‘ no nothing 




GIBRALTAR. 


143 


we walk proudly in, and feel almost on English ground. 
Indeed, we are no longer in Spain, everything is 
changed, and we 'might almost fancy ourselves in 
Chatham, for the houses are smoky and English; 
the street nomenclature is English, and they are 
filled with English soldiers, infantry, and artillery, 
in white blouses and caps. A great number of 
Moors are swelling about, looking very picturesque 
in their gaudy robes and snowy turbans. 

Proceeding up the Waterport, a long street strongly 
resembling Eatclifie Highway, or the purlieus of Wap- 
ping or Shadwell, we reach the Club-house Hotel in 
the Commercial Square, a thoroughly English build¬ 
ing : too much so indeed; for the smallness of the win¬ 
dows renders the rooms oppressively hot in this warm 
southern region. Without delay I hunt up Lieu¬ 
tenant Tonyman, an old artillery friend, whose ser¬ 
vant introduces me to his bedroom, where I find him 
snoring under the mosquito net. On being aroused 
he is not a little astonished at seeing me, but makes 
me heartily welcome, and having performed his 
toilette, takes me to. the mess-room, where we par¬ 
take of an excellent dejeuner a la fourchette, flanked 
with foaming pots of English ale. The remainder of 
the morning we spend in the billiard rooms and fine 
racket court where some excellent play is going on. 


144 


GIBRALTAE. 


In the afternoon Tonyman shows me over the 
battlements; the Alameda, a charming promenade; 
and the Saluting Battery, which I sketch without 
fear of interruption from any inquisitive carahinero, 
Beturning to Bell Lane, I observe a placard on the 
walls announcing that a bull-fight will take place at 
Algesiras on the opposite side of the bay, on the 27th 
inst., and as the Ganges steamer, by which I have 
taken my passage home, is not expected from Malta 
till the evening of that day, I again begin to indulge 
in wild hopes of being able after all to witness the 
sport and make arrangements with a boatman to take 
me over on the day appointed. Borrowing a dress 
suit of Tonyman, I accompany him to the artillery 
mess, and for the first time for four weeks dine on 
good old English fare. No no . garlic, no 

oily dishes, no anis brandy, no sour wine now; but 
roast beef, solid, well-cooked joints, excellent sherry^ 
and delicious claret cup. Though no gourmand nor 
epicure, I enjoy the change greatly, and warmed by 
the generous wine, and delighted to be once more 
among my countrymen, launch forth into narratives 
of my tour, and jocosely dilate on the extraordinary 
disappointments which have attended my hunt after 
a bull-fight. Tonyman, at a late hour, accom¬ 
panies me to the hotel, a necessary measure, as 



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GIBRALTAE. 


145 



the gates of the town are closed from sunset to 
sunrise, and none but officers being allowed to walk 
the streets after midnight, we are challenged at 
every turn by the question, “Who goes there?” 
“ Officer !” “ Pass, officer, all’s well.” 

On the following morning I stroll about the town, 
investing in Moorish curiosities, such as pipe-tubes, 
slippers, and also a pugheree^ which is folded round a 
felt hat by a wealthy Moorish merchant, who, if not 
dives equum, is certainly dives pictai vestis et auri: 
this worthy explains to me that the real de plata 
in circulation here is worth four English pence in 
Gibraltar, and that twelve make a dollar. 


L 


146 


THE GALLERIES. 



About midday I call for Tonyman, who takes 
me through the far-famed galleries, marvellous tri¬ 
umphs of labour indeed, consisting of large tunnels 
cut inside the face of the .cliff, pierced at intervals 
with embrasures for cannon, and running in tiers up 
to the very summit of the rock: the Cornwallis 
and St. George’s Halls, large chambers hewn out of 
the solid rock, are really wonderful specimens of 
engineering skill. Leaving the galleries about half 
way up, we ascend the rock by a zigzag road, and 


after a fearful amount of clambering, reach the sum¬ 
mit; here I observe drifted into a hollow of the 
eastern face of the steep cliff, a curious bank of sand 


GIB. 


147 


blown over it is presumed by high winds from the 
coast of Africa. The view from this elevated position 
is very fine: in front are the town and fortifications, 
further on, the Straits and distant African mountains; 
Ceuta and Apes’ Hill being plainly distinguishable 
through the remarkably clear atmosphere: on the 
right the bay of Gibraltar, dotted with white sails 
and proud English war-steamers ; the Mediterranean 
stretches away to the left, and behind lies the neutral 
ground, or flat level plain marking the boundaries of 
the Spanish and English territories, guarded by two 
rows of sentry-boxes: in the background are moun¬ 
tains ranging away till lost in the blue distance. 

Standing on this commanding elevation, and survey¬ 
ing the beautiful panorama around me, I cannot help 
reflecting on the immense importance of this mighty 
stronghold, truly designated the key of the Mediter¬ 
ranean, the entrance to which it so proudly com¬ 
mands : a monument of England’s power and glory is 
lofty old Gib., as rearing its gun-topped crest high 
above the waters, it daily and nightly roars forth a 
haughty defiance to the world. Descending at the 
double by the winding roadway, I notice La Torre 
Mocha, built in 725 A.D., a battered old Moorish tower 
which has sturdily withstood the brunt of centuries, 
the battle, and the storm. 


149 


GIBRALTAR. 


At mess I hear many opinions expressed of the 
disturbances now commencing in Morocco and the 
skirmishes taking place at Ceuta, concerning which 
the general persuasion seems to be that the Spaniards, 
however successful, will soon regret having plunged 
so recklessly into such inglorious and barren warfare."^ 

As the wine begins to circulate, and we to feel 
happy, suddenly bang ! goes the signal gun at Europa 
point! “ What the deuce is that?” ‘‘The Ganges 

has arrived.” My jaw drops, I collapse into my 
chair; all hopes of an excursion to Algesiras, all 
prospect of seeing a bull-fight are at an end. There 
is no alternative but to return at once with Tonymari 
to his quarters, cast off my borrowed plumes, and 
adjourn to the hotel, where I find Miles and Older 
ready to start. We proceed forthwith in a body to 
the Eagged Staff, where we learn that the Ganges 
will not sail till the morning, and I determine on re¬ 
maining ashore, leaving my Cadiz friends intent on 
securing good berths, to pull off to the steamer. 
Depositing my luggage in the guard-room, return 
with Tonyman to his club. The sentinel at the town 
gate makes difficulties about admitting the Spanish 

* Since this was written the Spaniards after a brief and victorious 
campaign under the great General O’Donnel now “ Duke of Tetuan ” 
have wisely listened to the voice of reason, and made peace with Mo¬ 
rocco 



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CEUTA, AFRICA. FROM THE ROCK OF GIBRALTAR 






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QOING THE BOUNDS. 


149 


porters who follow us, but permits them to enter at my 
friend’s command, and with “curses not loud but 
deep ” they disperse themselves about the town. It 
is amusing to observe the utter subjection in which 
the natives are held by the British soldiery, who on 
every occasion are necessarily compelled to assert 
their supremacy, and by the greatest vigilance 
impress upon the inhabitants the importance of their 
precious trust. In return they are of course cordially 
hated by the Spaniards, who, if they dared, would 
incontinently use their navajas on the obnoxious 
sentry whose hoarse challenge greets them at every 
corner of the moonlit streets. 

We spend some time at the club, knocking the balls 
about, and finish the night by exploring the many 
queer holes and corners in which Gib. abounds: 
in the course of these rambles we come across 
some officers “ going the rounds ” in a sort of Irish 
car, and joining company, we proceed to ransack the 
ins and outs of this strange , jumble of alleys and 
steep, ill-paved ramps. My recollection of all that 
occurred on this eventful night is somewhat foggy, 
but I have indistinct visions of rows with infatuated 
sentinels, and forcible entries into houses where we had 
no sort of business, and in some of which we were 
heartily anathematized. 


150 


FAREWELL TO SPAIls". 


At an early hour, as the morning gun thunders 
over the rock, I find myself being slowly dragged up 
the hill by the miserable Kosinante which has been on 
duty during the live-long night. I had parted with 
Tonyman some time before, and am now in company 
with a couple of youthful warriors, at whose quarters 
some distance above the town, I procure a refresco, (I 
should now say a whet,) in the shape of soda-water 
dashed with a thought of brandy, and at 6 A. M. find 
myself returning alone in the car . to the Kagged Staff, 
where my trunk is placed beside me, and we trot 
down to the Waterport. The street is now filled with 
troops turning out for morning parade, looking very 
fresh and soldierly in their bright scarlet tunics and 
white caps: proud indeed do I feel at being their 
countryman and a fellow-subject of their beloved 
Queen. On reaching the steamer, thanks to the 
kindness of an amiable purser, I am allotted a very 
comfortable berth in a large unoccupied cabin, of 
which I remain sole .occupant during the voyage 
home. 

The Ganges is a fine paddle-steamer, belonging 
to the Peninsular and Oriental Company; a steady 
old sea-boat of about two thousand tons. We have 
upwards of eighty passengers on board, chiefly officers 
and their families returning, from India, all ap- 


A SHOT FROM TARIFA. 


151 


parently very anxious to get back to dear old 
England. At 8 a.m., August 27th, we weigh anchor, 
and steam grandly out of the bay. Farewell to the 
land of the Cid! A long farewell to thy beautiful 
senoras^ thy gorgeous Moslem palaces, thy glorious 
paintings, thy romantic peasantry, thy fertile plains, 
thy lofty mountains, thy arid steppes ! Thy tartanas^ 
diligencias^ mules, pucheroSy olives, garlic, fleas, nios- 
quitoes, O farewell! 

Passing Tarifa, an old Moresco-Arabic town, we 
are all assembled on the quarter-deck, spying at it 
through our glasses, when suddenly the report of a 
gun is heard from the shore. “ What the deuce is 
that for?” The British ensign is proudly floating 
at the peak, who dares to insult it? Presently, 
hang ! goes another gun, and to our utter astonish¬ 
ment a shot is seen skipping along the water, and 
finally sinking close to the vessel’s side. Many of 
the passengers throw themselves flat on their faces, 
while others entrench themselves behind light breast¬ 
works of camp-stools and easy-chairs. Indignant 
ejaculations of “ D—d scoundrels !” “ Monstrous 
outrage !” “ Infernal rascals 1” are heard on all 
sides ; we run up the P. and O. flag, and pursue our 
course without further molestation, deriving consola¬ 
tion from the fact that the affair will all come out in 


152 


THE GANGES. 


the ‘ Times ’ a few days hence. And now the notes of 
a bugle ring out shrilly in the morning air ; it is the 
call to breakfast, and we repair to the saloon where 
a sumptuous repast awaits us, to which we do ample 
justice. The fare is indeed excellent; we carry a 
cow, a butcher, a baker, and many other auxiliaries of 
good cheer on board, and could not fare better evea in 
a metropolitan hotel; and well that it is so, for eating 
and drinking are the main employments on ship¬ 
board, where feats of gastronomy are achieved, such 
as never could be attempted on terra firma. We are 
allowed as much beer, wine, and spirits, as we choose 
to partake of; at one we take tiffin ; at four, dinner; 
at seven, tea; and nightcaps of “hot with” or 
“cold without” at ten; the lights in the cabins are 
extinguished at eleven, when all are supposed to be 
in their berths: altogether the arrangements in this 
fine boat are excellent. 

On the following morning the muster-roll is called, 
the crew, about fifty in number, being ranged along 
the deck in their Sunday attire and Divine service 
is afterwards performed in the saloon, the skipper 
reading the prayers. I find Captain Vicks a first-rate 
fellow, very attentive to the ladies, a leetle vain, but 
withal as thorough a seaman as ever trod a deck. 
During the day I occupy myself in finishing some 


COAST OF POETUGAL. 


153 


of my sketches and comparing them with those 
of a gallant officer, who is also dabbing away vigor- 
yjsly at his Indian drawings. We are much 
struck with the similarity existing between the 
Spanish and Bengal views, for in both the skies 
are very blue, the buildings very white, the palms 
very dusty, the children very pot-bellied, and the 
men very dark, and half-naked. At about 7 p. m. we 
pass Cape Espichel, on the coast of Portugal, and 
shortly afterwards Cape Boca, near the mouth of the 
Tagus; so close do we run to the shore, that we 
have a good view of the headlands, and Cintra on the 
other side of the Cape. 

The following day passes very pleasantly, the 
weather continuing fine, and the sea remarkably calm. 
To enliven the proceedings we get up a raffle for 
some models of Turkish galleys, and indict a stormy 
letter to the P. and O. directors, complaining of the 
outrage we have received at Tarifa. I may add here, 
that the only result, so far as I am concerned, was 
my having to visit a lawyer in London, make 
affidavit of the circumstances, and subsequently swear 
to the same in the awful presence of the Lord Mayor 
at the Mansion House; the document was then 
swallowed up in the Foreign Office, where it was 
doubtless enveloped in red tape, and will probably 


154 


THE BAND. 



never be heard of again till the crack of doom. 
Many of the passengers seem seized with a rabid 
mania for backgammon, in which jovial game they 
indulge to a morbid extent, sitting on camp-stools 
and cane chairs, planted in secret nooks and corners 
all over the deck. Eeading is also a favourite 
occupation; stale copies of the ‘Times,’ a fortnight 
old, are at a premium, and great is the demand for 
the railway library, and other cheap novels of the 
day. 

Twice a day we are entertained by the strains of 


a brass band, consisting of the musically inclined 
portion of the stew^ards, who divide their attention 






THE BAY OF BISCAY. 


155 


between waiting at table, washing plates and dishes, 
and performing operatic selections on the cornet, 
ophicleide and violoncello. 

In the evenings we repair to the main-deck, where, 
watching the huge cranks alternately appearing and 
disappearing from the depths of the engine-room, we 
enjoy the weed in undisturbed tranquillity save 
when an occasional stoker approaches with a bucket 
of ashes, and growling out “ By your leave, gentle¬ 
men V steps forth on the sponson and empties his 
dusty burden into the seething foam of the paddle- 
churned waters. •The log is hove several times 
during the day, but we never manage to knock more 
than ten knots per hour out of the old boat; and I 
hear a sagacious old gentleman attribute our tardy 
progress to the fact that “ we are cutting off steam at 
one fourth of the stroke, and working expansively to 
save coal, sir, to save coal!” At about Up. m., 
oh the 29th, we pass Cape Finisterre, and begin to 
look out for squalls. 

No need of the reveille sounding the old air of 
“ The Bay of Biscay O!” for, on awakening the next 
morning, I find my cabin reeling about in a decidedly 
drunken manner. Dressing now becomes a matter of 
no small difficulty; I am obliged to flirt with my 
peg-tops, dancing wildly on one leg, while I watch an 


156 


THE BAY OF BISCAY. 


opportunity of suddenly diving into the other : I have 
to coquet with my shirt before insinuating my head 
and shoulders ; and finally stagger spasmodically into 
my coat, forcing in my arms with a plunge, and 
clutching desperately at the sides of the berth on ter¬ 
mination of the ticklish task. Coming on deck, I 
find we are fairly out in the dreaded bay. Enormous 
long rolling swells come sweeping in from the broad 
Atlantic; but the old boat behaves beautifully, 
taking the seas in gallant style, now rising on the 
summit of a wave like a duck, and gently subsiding 
into the hollow of the next. The motion of the 
vessel is comparatively easy, and wholly different 
from what I have formerly experienced on many 
occasions in crossing the English Channel : I 
nevertheless trifie a little with my breakfast, and 
truth compels me to confess that I afterwards 
retire behind the wheel-house to watch the porpoises 
tumbling astern; but after this brief episode I sufl^r 
no further inconvenience; sea-sickness seems quite 
unknown, and rough as is the sea, not a single basin is 
called into requisition. The swell continues through¬ 
out the ensuing day : at meals all the plates and dishes 
are confined in mahogany trays, to which we grasp 
wildly at every roll of the vessel. The passengers are 
in the highest spirits at the prospect of soon landing in 


JOLLITY. 


157 


England, and the health of Captain Vicks is drunk 
with all due honours. Towards midnight, as we are 
entering the Chops of the Channel and Ushant light 
glimmers in the distance, not satisfied with our 
previous hilarity, a number of us assembling on the 
main deck, each sings a song in turn, and all join in 
chorus. After a brilliant concert, in which Sims 
Eeeves would have been nowhere, Eobson nothing, 
and Henry Eussell thrown into the shade, we wind 
up with these lines, fortissimo — 

‘ For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne ; 

We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet, 

• For auld lang syne,’ 

grasping hands, and capering about like madmen. 
Every one catches the infection ; old sea-dogs, .bluff 
Hooghly pilots, dried-up nabobs, venerable Bengal 
majors, and raw young subs, all like a parcel of 
children jumping about and hallooing loud enough 
to waken the Seven Sleepers. A Spaniard would have 
opened his eyes and cried ‘‘ CaramhaT at the extraor¬ 
dinary spectacle; but the worthy skipper, in language 
no less forcible, soon gives us to understand, that 
though he can make allowances for young blood (he 
might add old), he will nevertheless not permit his 
well-organized ship to be turned into a pot-house, and 


158 


OLD ENOLAND. 


having completed his oration, sends us all to our 
berths, whither we retire feeling not a little fortunate 
in having escaped the previous warming ” usually 
administered to refractory infants. 

The next morning, September 1st, on coming on 
deck, the first object which meets my view is that 
well-known headland, the Bill of Portland, and I 
fondly gaze on the twin lighthouses, and grassy slopes, 
where many a time and oft, my feet have wandered 
on a summer’s eve. Short though my absence, my 
heart bounds at the sight of home, not that I love 
Hispania less, but that I love old England more— 

“ This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, 

This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars ; 

This other Eden, demi-paradise ; 

This fortress built by Nature for herself. 

Against infection and the hand of war; 

This happy breed of men, this little world ; 

This precious stone set in the silver sea. 

Which serves it in the office of a wall. 

Or as a moat defensive to a house. 

Against the envy of less happier lands.” 


Every stitch of canvas is now set, and we bowl 
up Channel in gallant style. At breakfast all are 
speculating on the pleasure of reaching home, looking 
forward to greeting old familiar faces, and the warm 
welcome of friends and relatives, from whom many 
have been long, long parted. The band now begins 


UP CHANNEL. 


159 


making preparations for a grand final performance: 
we soon sight the Needles, and enter the Solent; pas¬ 
sengers now dive down below to come up as ‘‘swells,” 
shaving the accumulated stubble of weeks, and donning 
uncouth solar topees^ or quaint felt helmets to cut a 
figure with on landing. A gay widow who has been 
the life and soul of the party during the voyage, now 
appears in deepest mourning, staggering under a load 
of crape, with a most woe-begone physiognomy, also 



put on for the occasion. Among others, I notice 
Mr. Brazier, a nabob, who after “ spending half his 
life of a gridiron,” is returning to his native country 
with a large fortune and an enormous paunch; he 
is attended by two native servants, lanky, attenuated 










160 


SOUTHAMPTON. 


beggars, wbo seem utterly careless and indifferent 

of all that is passing 
around them; one I 
discover squatting in 
an attitude suggestive 
of horrible cramps, 
between two chests 
about ten inches apart, 
probably at his devo¬ 
tions. 

The band now strikes up, and the decks resound 
with “Home, sweet home!” and “ Auld lang syne,” 
as we majestically paddle up the Solent. We reach 
Cowes, the helm is put hard a port, we round the 
bell buoy, enter the Southampton water, and at 2 P. M. 
arrive at the mouth of the dock ^ a warp is passed 
round the dolphin, a few turns of the capstan, and 
we are alongside the quay, over the gangway and 
on English ground. The voyage has lasted five days 
and a quarter, and, mirabile dictu! I have enjoyed it 
thoroughly. 

A party of twelve is at once formed, who march 
in a body to Eadley’s where we take a hearty dinner, 
and, luggage passed at the custom-house, seek the 
railway station; at 10 P. M. I find myself once 
more in London, on the platform of the Waterloo 










LONDON. 


161 


station; here we part company, all radiating in differ¬ 
ent directions, probably never to meet again. Sepa¬ 
rating with deep regret from my ‘jolly companions,’ 
I call a Hansom, throw myself into the seat, bang 
down the doors, light a cigar, and fall into a reverie 
as we gallop along the Waterloo Eoad. 



The longer I reside in mighty London, the more 
am I impressed with its colossal proportions, its solid 
grandeur, enormous traffic, extraordinary wealth and 
immense population, subjects of which, year by year, 
I have vainly endeavoured to form an adequate 

M 









162 


LONDON. 


conception, but which I now begin to believe too 
vast for human comprehension. 

Passing down the Strand, and up Eegent Street, 

I contrast the magnificence of the shops with the 
poverty-stricken character of those at Madrid; I 
draw “odious comparisons” between the imposing, 
though smoky, stateliness of the streets with the 
gimcrack, though cheerful appearance of the calles 
of Barcelona, Malaga, and Seville. I compare the 
well-appointed vehicle in which I am riding with 
that dreadful Spanish equivalent, the Tartana; the 
neat handsome omnibuses which rattle past with the 
lumbering diligences of Andalusia; the sturdy yeoman 
with his wagon, on his way to Covent Garden, with 
the tawny mule-driver of Catalonia; the stalwart 
soldierly guardsmen with the swarthy little carahi- 
neros^ and the active vigilant police with the ponde¬ 
rous guardias eiviles. Short as has been my sojourn 
in, and brief my experience of Spain, I feel bound to 
add, that though it certainly has great advantages 
of splendid climate, fine paintings, lovely women, gor¬ 
geous Moslem and Gothic relics, picturesque scenery, 
rich historical associations, and mournful traces of 
ancient grandeur; yet when I reflect upon the 
poverty-stricken nature of the country, its ignorance, 
its tardy advance in civilization, its bigotry and 


LONDON. 


163 


religious intolerance; and when I ruminate over 
my individual experience of its antediluvian means 
of conveyance, the inferior quality of its hotels, 
the nasty style of living, the impassability of its 
inhabitants, the bother and worry of the passport, 
quarantine, and customs’ regulations, the vermin, 
the garlic, the oil, and the smells,—I arrive at the 
conclusion that there is no place like old England 
for freedom, wealth, cleanliness, and comfort; and, 
like the historian, proudly glorying in my British 
birthright, I exclaim, with downright national conceit. 
Thank God ! I am an Englishman !” 

Patrice fumus igne alieno luculentior. 


THE END. 


LONDON; 

PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS5 STAMFORD STREET 
AND CHARING CROSS, 


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